Missing Pieces
by OrangeShipper
Summary: Just what happened at Sybil's ball to make things seem 'so settled' between Matthew and Mary? Filling the gaps between eps 6/7 - Final chapter now up.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Here goes. The first part may seem just a bit familiar... All characters and quotes belong to Downton Abbey, not me :)

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**Missing Pieces**

"Thank you for coming to Sybil's rescue," Mary spoke warmly, gratefully. "You were very brave!" she added after a moment's pause. Matthew looked up at the note of admiration in her voice. "She told me you knocked a man down!"

Matthew dipped his head bashfully, unable to help a smile at her praise.

"I hope I did my duty," he said, raising his eyebrows. He did not consider himself a brave man, nor a hero of any kind. He had simply acted as he believed he should, in order to protect the young girl from violence. He took a sip of his drink, self-conscious under Mary's gaze.

"Are you a creature of duty?" she asked. She did admire him, the way he had taken on his duties and responsibilities as heir to her father's estate. After all, they had hardly made it easy for him, and she had been reluctantly impressed by his resilience.

"Not entirely," he met her gaze again, puzzled by the question.

"When you laugh with me, or flirt with me... Is that a duty?" He stared in open surprise at her directness. "Are you conforming to the fitness of things, doing what's expected?"

Emboldened by her playful smile, and the light dancing in her eyes, he narrowed his eyes teasingly. What was she playing at? How he wished he could see inside her mind, unravel the marvellous complexity of her character.

"Don't play with me," his lips quirked upwards as he replied. "I don't deserve it, not from you." His loaded words left Mary's heart fluttering as he deliberately turned his attention away again. A moment passed.

"You must be careful not to break Sybil's heart," she changed tack now, challenging his affections. "I think she has a crush on you."

"Well that's something no-one could accuse you of," Matthew responded playfully, holding her gaze intensely. Her breath caught in her throat as he turned fully towards her, leaning in closely.

"Oh I don't know..." Suddenly coy, Mary toyed with her necklace, her heart hammering in her chest. Did she dare to admit it? Could she possibly? A flash of disbelief, confusion, flickered across Matthew's eyes. Had she really said what he just thought she said? He had begun to hope beyond belief that she may have been more fond of him than she would allow anyone to believe, but could she possibly have some deeper affection for him?

"I assume you speak in a spirit of mockery," he said heavily, testing her. His eyes were dark with suppressed passion; he could not tear his gaze from her. She met his stare equally, confidently.

"You should have more faith," she encouraged him, her eyes willing him to take her unspoken admission seriously. In response, he dipped his head, moving closer towards her, closer than they both knew was appropriate.

"Shall I remind you of some of the choicest remarks you made about me when I arrived here?" His mischievous smile and teasing tone belied the accusation in his words. Still, she lowered her head and her eyes to the table. In all truth, she was ashamed now of the way she had treated Matthew when he first came into their lives. "Because they live in my memory, as fresh as the day they were spoken." His words, heavily laden with unspoken meaning, made her heart swell. She was extremely aware of his eyes upon her, challenging her, willing her to look up and see his passion reflected in their depths. He swallowed thickly in anticipation of her response.

"Oh Matthew, what am I always telling you," Mary smiled suggestively, finding the will to boldly meet his gaze."You must pay no attention to the things I say." She encouraged him with her eyes.

Matthew's eyes widened imperceptibly, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. Could he really dare to believe her? That her feelings towards him were now so wholly altered that she could feel for him a fraction of what he felt for her? The world seemed to suddenly stop around him. There was nothing else, nothing but her, filling his whole vision and being. His eyes moved down unconsciously to her lips, and back up to her eyes, finding assurance in her smile.

She was not even aware of how it happened. One moment they were bantering, flirting, as they normally did. At once the atmosphere had changed, thickened, become electric. Before she knew what was happening, before any conscious thought or decision, she found herself yielding to his kiss wholeheartedly. Her hand, without thought, reached up to caress his cheek. The touch of his cool skin beneath her fingers thrilled her.

Neither of them was aware of how much time passed in their sweet, shared bliss. All else was beyond thought or comprehension, they were only aware of the other, and the heated connection between them. Finally, slowly, reluctantly, as though it were a dream that would shatter in an instant, they separated.

"Oh Matthew..." His heart leapt at the sound of his name breathed softly through her lips, her eyes still closed in blissful delight. His own fluttered slowly open, drinking her in, hardly daring to believe that he had not imagined her kiss.

"Mary." His voice trembled with feeling. She met his intense gaze, her heart catching for a moment as she felt him tenderly clasp her hands between his own. There were but inches separating them, the air between seeming cold in sharp contrast to the warmth of his proximity. "Mary, you must answer me plainly, can it be possible that you care for me?" He held his breath as he awaited her response.

"Yes," she replied tentatively, after a moment's thought. "Yes, I rather think I might!" She seemed herself surprised at her own admission. Matthew's breath caught in fresh hope; he grasped her soft hands a little more tightly.

"Because I care for you," his head bowed in sincerity, looking intently up at her from under his brows. "I care very deeply for you, Mary." She felt a small shudder of delight at his heartfelt words, and rewarded him a dip of her head in acknowledgment, her cheeks tinting with a delicate blush. She could not help but smile in her pleasure; it was all she could do to remind herself to breathe.

Matthew watched her carefully, observing her reaction. He was stunned and heartened by her admission. He had often marvelled at the brief glimpses she had allowed him into her thoughts; he knew that she was a guarded soul, and he was not unaware of the significance of her openness with him. He could not believe that she could have conjured or created the passion he had felt in her kiss, had seen in her eyes, had heard in the way she spoke his name.

Smiling tentatively, he spoke again.

"Or, do you consider me to be but a hideous sea monster still?"

Mary chuckled softly at the recollection of their dinner conversation, glad that he did not hold it against her. She smiled gently up at him, a shade of light-heartedness in the thick atmosphere. "I must admit not," she spoke softly, tenderly. "I am ashamed to admit that my initial assessment of your character was wholly unjustified. I must confess that you are rather more a Perseus to me, now."

Matthew's heart sang in delight at her response. For the first time, he was acutely aware that he did not just hold Mary in great affection. He was thoroughly, deeply, in love with her. Serious once more, he breathed deeply, speaking carefully.

"Mary..." Her body trembled in response to the warmth and affection clear in his expression. "Mary; could you... Would you marry me?"

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A/N: Much more to come :) Thank you for taking the time to read, please let me know what you thought!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you for your kind reviews, and thank you for getting this far to read Chapter 2! Enjoy :)

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**Chapter 2**

Mary felt at once an odd contrast of the most incredible joy and simultaneous crushing despair. She would admit to no-one that, over the last few weeks and months, she had started to imagine a future with Matthew. But for him to actually ask her, to tell her that he cared for her and express a desire to spend his life with her, filled her with delight such as she had never felt. She knew immediately in her heart that she did want to marry Matthew and that, if she was honest with herself, she could not see herself ever feeling quite so exquisitely happy with anyone else. No, she decided in that instant that she would gladly marry Matthew and share her life with him.

Yet her heart sank as in the very same instant, she knew that she would have to tell him about Pamuk. Looking into his eyes, so earnest, so hopeful, she knew that she could not live a lie by keeping the truth from him. And surely, once he knew, he would not look upon her with such affection. She was not sure she could bear it, to finally realise such contentment only to lose it immediately, and break her - and Matthew's - heart in the process.

All this flashed across her mind in but a fraction of a second. Desperately wanting to succumb to the earnest desire in Matthew's eyes, and yet feeling equally desperate to not tell him the truth and shatter their delight in each others' affection, Mary found herself speechless, her own mind warring against itself and unable to form any words.

Matthew patiently waited, watching hopefully for any indication of an answer. Seeing the struggle in her eyes, he softly reassured her.

"You need not give me an answer right away, Mary," he said with more calm than he felt.

"I am sorry Matthew, truly..." Mary took a breath, struggling to find appropriate words. She did not want to dash his hope entirely, yet was similarly afraid to raise it too high. "It is such a big decision... There is such a lot to consider." She did her best to look encouragingly at him.

"Of course," Matthew granted her a small smile. "Might I presume to take some small encouragement from the fact that you have not rejected me outright, as you may have done a year ago?"

Mary chuckled softly in acknowledgement.

"Yes, I believe you should!" Her heart warmed as she looked into his eyes, mutually conveying an appreciation of the step their relationship had taken. Matthew, still holding her hands tenderly, narrowed his eyes slightly.

"I know you are a stubborn creature, and that it would pain you to relent to something so desired by your whole family." Though his words were reproachful, he spoke with great fondness. "But I wish you would consider that if you desired it too, you should not allow that pride to stand in your way."

"Dear Matthew, I fear you understand me too well," Mary smiled apologetically. "I promise I shall try," she added sincerely.

"On the contrary, I should never presume that I could understand you!" Matthew exclaimed. "I fear such a feat is not possible! But," he added seriously, "I could gladly spend my life attempting to try." He was sure he did not imagine the fond look of appreciation and gratitude in Mary's eyes. They shared a warm smile. "Well," Matthew said, breaking the silence. "It's getting rather late... I'm sure I've kept you too long already."

He stood as Mary nodded, moving swiftly to the bell to ring for Carson. Though he was disappointed that Mary had not given him an answer, he appreciated that she had probably never considered it in any seriousness before this evening. In truth, neither had he; though he had entertained the thought of it for some time, he had never believed that anything could actually come of it. The sudden change in their relationship, the electricity of the atmosphere between them and the intensity of their kiss, had taken him quite by surprise, and he found himself suddenly grasping the opportunity as it arose. In all honesty, he was just as surprised that Mary actually seemed to be giving serious thought to the idea of marriage.

He watched her as she moved across the room gracefully, her pearly skin shimmering under the soft electric lights. He longed to close the distance between them, to kiss her once more, and as she turned to face him he could have sworn that he caught a glimpse of the same desire in her own dark eyes. Yet they maintained their distance.

"You rang, Lady Mary?" Carson stood in the doorway.

"Yes, Carson, thank you." Though Mary addressed the butler, her eyes remained fixed on Matthew's, treasuring in her mind his handsome face and the way he was looking at her. She did not want to waste a second in his presence of wasting her sight looking elsewhere. "Mr Crawley was just about to leave." The formality of referring to Matthew as 'Mr Crawley' seemed suddenly strange to her, after the intimacy they had shared.

"Of course, Lady Mary." Carson bowed his head respectfully. He noted with some interest the emotionally charged gaze shared between his young mistress and the new heir. Smiling subtly to himself, he stepped outside the door to wait for Mr Crawley, allowing the pair to say goodbye in privacy.

Matthew reached out his hand to take Mary's, his touch lingering a little longer than socially necessary.

"Goodnight, Mary." His low, warm voice reverberated through her being. "You will think about what I've asked, won't you?"

Mary touched his arm gently. It was only a small gesture of affection, but it was enough.

"I promise that I shall, Matthew," she said sincerely. "Be assured that if the matter were as simple as I only wish it were –"

Matthew nodded, a quirk of his lips showing his appreciation of her small encouragement, before he turned to leave.

"Thank you, Carson," Matthew said warmly as the butler opened the front door of the big house. "I am sorry to have kept you so late..." He looked apologetically at the older man.

"Oh, it is of no concern, Mr Crawley," Carson assured him. The butler felt a great deal more warmth towards the young heir than he had to start with, as he had begun to appreciate Matthew's concern for Mary and how difficult it was for them all. "These things happen, and you should never feel that you should cut short a visit for the sake of me, or any other the other staff." Carson particularly felt that this was true this evening, hopeful for Mary's future as he had observed the growing closeness between the heir and his favourite of Lord Grantham's daughters.

"That's very kind of you, Carson. Well, goodnight." The two men nodded to each other in respect before Matthew left. He was quite happy to walk back to Crawley house, appreciative of the fresh air and the time to set his thoughts in order. Besides, he had thought that ordering the car probably wasn't the best idea considering the mood Lord Grantham was likely to be in with Branson.

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Upon arriving home, Matthew was surprised to find his mother still up and about. He looked at the clock, noting with surprise that he had been at the big house for nearly three hours.

"Mother! I was not expecting you to wait for me," Matthew admonished fondly.

"Of course I waited," Isobel matter-of-factly. "I was curious to hear how poor Sybil got on once you got her back home." She had been extremely worried by the accident which had befallen Sybil, and fearful for how Lord Grantham would react. "How were things?"

"Well, I wasn't privy to much, but I gather Lord Grantham wasn't at all pleased." Matthew replied, rather obviously. "Still, I imagine he'll be alright. Branson should be too, if what Sybil claimed was true about not knowing the destination until they arrived."

"Yes. Well, thank goodness you were there!" Isobel thanked the Lord, as she did often, for blessing her with a good-hearted and sensible son who could be counted upon. Matthew sat down and bowed his head, not wishing to talk any further of his having saved Sybil. "Well," Isobel continued, getting the hint, "I hope that at least they thanked you sufficiently!"

"Yes," Matthew nodded, "Mary had them prepare some sandwiches for me; it was very kind of her."

"Sandwiches!" Isobel exclaimed. Poor thanks indeed for her son having put himself at risk!

"Yes, Mother," he frowned reproachfully at her. "They didn't have to do anything at all; I appreciated them very much." He smiled as Isobel muttered something under her breath. "And –" he paused for a moment, considering. "I have asked cousin Mary to marry me."

Isobel's mouth dropped open in shock.

"Heavens! What did the sandwiches have in them?"

"Mother!" Matthew's voice rose impatiently. "I am perfectly serious."

Isobel's expression softened, and she smiled an apology at her son as she saw the intent with which he spoke. She had not been unaware that her son had been paying closer and closer attention to Mary, and had suspected that he was growing increasingly fond of her.

"Of course, Matthew, I'm sorry. Do you love Mary?"

"Yes, I rather think I do," Matthew smiled broadly at his mother, the genuine happiness on his face warming her heart. She smiled fondly back at him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Does she care for you, do you think?" Earlier, Isobel had not missed the way in which Mary had jealously observed Matthew helping Sybil up. It had occurred to her for the first time that Mary might have more genuine feelings for her son than she had previously believed.

"I do believe so, yes. Though you know it can be difficult to tell with Mary sometimes."

"And has she given you an answer?"

"She has promised to think about it." Matthew said quietly, hopefully.

"I see. What is there to think about, I wonder!" Isobel exclaimed. "She cannot be put off by your position; that at least we can be sure of! I can't see why she should not accept you, if she does indeed care for you." She felt suddenly indignant on behalf of her son.

"It's alright, Mother, I don't mind." Matthew assured her. "In fact," he continued, "I have come to the conclusion that I'd far rather she accepted me after having considered the matter carefully, than to give me an answer in haste which she may later regret."

"Well, that is a very sensible way in which to view the matter," Isobel decided, proud of Matthew's good sense and nature. "I simply hope, then, that she will answer you soon, and favourably." She smiled encouragingly, squeezing his shoulder.

Matthew smiled back, before rising to his feet. Briefly, he kissed his mother's head fondly.

"Yes, well. We shall see. Goodnight, Mother."

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A/N: More to come :) Thank you for getting this far. As ever, I'd love to know what you think, constructive criticisms included! Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Once again, thank you so much for your feedback :)

Huge thanks to silverduck for her help with this chapter!

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**Chapter 3  
**

The next morning, as the fog of sleep cleared slowly from Matthew's mind, he felt as though he had awoken from an extremely pleasant dream. A dream in which he had finally realised the desire he had been cherishing for a while now; to have the courage to express his affection for Mary, to take her in his arms and kiss her sweetly; and then, beyond all thought and reason, had asked her to marry him. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and frowned as the realisation dawned on him that it had not been a dream at all. A smile slowly spread across his face as he remembered the evening before; the way she had gazed into his eyes with affection, the way she had breathed his name in desire, the way her lips had felt upon his and her hand softly upon his cheek. He closed his eyes, reliving it, consciously savouring the exact way it had felt. And, to his surprise, she had not rejected him – true, she had not accepted him – but still, her response was a tremendous step from what it would have been, even mere months ago.

Gradually, another realisation dawned upon him. He had promised Lord Grantham that they would review the progress on the cottages this morning. Matthew's stomach knotted; he was certain that Robert would by now know about his proposal. How would he respond? Would he treat him any differently, in the knowledge that Matthew had asked his eldest daughter to marry him? Would he demand to know Matthew's intentions, expect him to declare his solemn love for her? Matthew enjoyed the comfortable relationship he had settled into with the Earl of Grantham, after the difficult circumstances of his arrival. In many ways, he had come to see Lord Grantham as very much a father figure, and looked up to him greatly. The more he learned about the responsibilities of the estate, the more respect he had for the older man, and the more he only wished that he would, in time, be able to do half as good a job. He considered the matter as he dressed, and though he was sure that the Earl could only be pleased at the news, Matthew remained apprehensive about how it would change things between them.

Matthew need not have worried. As Lord Grantham approached him across the sprawling forecourt of Downton Abbey, he was greeted with a warm smile and an exuberant handshake.

"Matthew, my dear chap," the Earl was grinning from ear to ear. "I really can't tell you how thrilled Cora and I are that you've proposed to Mary." He looked fondly upon his heir as he continued. "I'm sure that you cannot be unaware of how much it would mean to us, to Downton."

Ah, Matthew thought to himself as he smiled politely back at him. The Earl's outlook was quite clear, then; of course they were pleased, it would mean the securing of Mary's future as mistress of Downton.

"Thank you, Sir," he replied with a fraction more warmth than he felt. Though he had expected that to be the case, he could not help but feel a small seed of disappointment that Lord Grantham would not be pleased for them for their own sake. "Of course that fact had not passed me by – you know well enough the guilt I feel for inheriting over Mary in any case." He frowned, thinking for a moment with pursed lips, as the Earl nodded in appreciation. "But you must know that that was by no means my motivation for asking Mary to marry me... In all seriousness, I care for her very dearly." He did not quite feel able yet to admit to the imposing man how deeply he loved, cherished and simply adored his daughter; he was only just coming to the full realisation of that himself. Yet the thought bothered him that anyone should think he had proposed out of a sense of duty to the family.

"Oh Matthew," Lord Grantham chuckled as they walked. "You really think I do not know that?" He smiled at the younger man. Matthew's cheeks flushed slightly, his gaze fixed on the ground as he realised how he had misjudged the Earl. He continued warmly. "If I thought that to have been your reason, believe me, I should not pretend to be so pleased. The happiness of both of you is foremost in my considerations, I hope you know that."

"Thank you. I do appreciate that." Matthew smiled, grateful and relieved to be set straight. "Anyway, we must not forget – Mary has not yet accepted me!"

"Of course," Lord Grantham chuckled. "Well, we can only hope that she shall, and before too long!"

The two men, each in their own way filled with respect and regard for the other, continued on in their review of the estate.

Some hours later, Matthew was making his way back across the grounds of Downton Abbey after having left Lord Grantham, both men satisfied with the excellent progress on the worker's cottages. Consumed with his own thoughts, he walked across the neatly shorn grass, under the dappled shade of the leafy trees. As he approached the ornate garden bench where first he had tentatively suggested to Mary that they should spend more time together (though he had attempted to pass it off as jest at the time), he stopped short at the sight that greeted him. Mary was there, as he had quietly hoped in the back of his mind that she would be; he knew she often liked to read there in the summer months. Yet she was not reading, not on this occasion. In the warm summer sunshine, Mary had succumbed to sleep, and was lying draped, graceful as ever, across the bench, her book forgotten on the ground beside her.

Matthew stared unashamedly, relishing the opportunity to drink in the vision of her unobserved. Smiling with affection, he moved a step closer, close enough to see the way her eyelashes fluttered against her rosy cheek, her soft lips turned gently upwards as she slept. His eyes moved along, pausing at her lips, remembering once more the way they had felt and tasted against his own. He noticed then, his eyebrows rising, that one foot had slipped off the bench slightly, causing the hem of her dress to be tugged up just a fraction; enough to reveal a satin shoe and her slender ankle, encased in an impossibly fine silk stocking. His heart beating faster now, Matthew desperately tried to tear his eyes away from that ankle, tried to stop his imagination from wondering inappropriately what might lie above... He tore his gaze back, only to fall once more on her perfect face and lips, which did nothing at all to cool his ardour.

He was saved, fortuitously, from losing himself in her, by a leaf which landed on her nose. Mary's eyes fluttered open as she delicately swiped at the offending object. She blinked as she sat up. How odd, she thought. Her exquisitely delightful dream of Matthew must have been particularly affecting, as she was utterly convinced that she could see him still, standing in front of her, as clear as day. She gasped in shock as she realised that he was, in fact, standing right in front of her.

"Matthew!"

"Hello," he smiled, humour dancing in his clear blue eyes as Mary distractedly smoothed down her skirt. "I'm sorry, I just happened to be passing by. I've just been with your father; getting rather a grilling about last night."

Mary's eyes shot to his, a look of panic flashing across her face.

"Matthew, you didn't tell him that we –"

"Heavens no!" Matthew exclaimed, laughing at the horror on Mary's face; only glad that he appeared to have escaped reproach for watching her sleep. "Do you really think that I would dare to share what passed between us with anyone, let alone your father, of all people?" He paused as Mary's face relaxed, then spoke more seriously. "I can hardly still believe it myself, Mary." His low, rich voice sent a shiver through her body. Her breath hitched under his intense gaze, his eyes stirring with passion, her own clouding slightly as she remembered.

"Well, then?" Recovering her composure slightly, she prompted him to continue. She caught his eyes, inviting him silently to sit next to her. He did so. Both were acutely aware of their sudden proximity, their sides almost, almost touching, but not quite. "What did Papa say about the matter? I hope he was not too cruel!" She smiled, teasing him.

"Not at all; in fact he was jolly good about it." Mary, her breathing shallow as she enjoyed his proximity, was entranced by the way that his lips moved as he spoke. Oh what she would give to feel that rapturous delight once more! She relished the opportunity to allow her eyes to rove across his face; she knew that if he turned to face her they would be much too close to be appropriate. How very handsome he was, she thought, as she almost reverently paid careful attention to each feature of his wonderful face. She had to shake herself out of her reverie as she realised he had continued speaking. "He merely assured me how very pleased he would be about it." Matthew raised an eyebrow as he remembered the warm fondness with which Lord Grantham had spoken.

Mary's eyes fell to the ground, her hands twisting in her lap.

"Of course he would," she said, trying and not quite succeeding to keep the note of bitterness and sadness from her voice. Matthew turned his face to her, his brow knitted in concern. "You are the son he never had." Mary looked up at him from under her brows with a small, sad smile. "You are very dear to him, you know."

"Mary..." chided Matthew gently. "You say that as if you are not." Boldly, he reached across and took her soft hand in his own, squeezing it affectionately. "Your father loves you very much." Mary looked down at the ground with a soft sigh, just wishing that she could believe him.

They sat like this for several moments, both lost in their own thoughts. Matthew felt great sorrow on Mary's behalf, wishing fervently that she could only see her own worth. Though her low opinion of herself distressed him, he appreciated the openness of her expression, the fact that she had shared her deepest thoughts with him. It was no secret that Mary was a difficult book to read, even to those closest to her, and it meant a great deal to him that she should value him enough to allow him these brief glimpses into her soul. His thumb distractedly rubbed across the back of her hand, and she took comfort from the small gesture, treasuring his touch. After a short while, Matthew spoke cautiously.

"You know, Mary, that I should never count the estate to be mine, if we were married." Her eyes shot to his, and she was taken aback by the depth of affection she could see there. Her brows furrowed slightly, not fully comprehending his words. "I should always, as I do even now, consider Downton to belong truly to you." Mary could not help but smile gently. Though she was truly appreciative of his words, she smiled ruefully at him.

"Dear Matthew," her lilting, velvet voice fell upon his ears like music. "Don't you see? An estate could never, in any way, belong to a woman. We are but wallflowers; our only purpose to stand at your side looking decorative. Oh," her lips quirked up with the irony of her words, "and to produce an heir, of course." She squeezed his hand gently to let him know that though her words were bitter, she nonetheless valued and was grateful for his sentiment. "That is all, I'm afraid, no matter how wonderful and noble your intentions. That is a woman's full lot in life."

"Not for you, Mary." His eyes narrowed in sincerity.

He was so close, so close to her. She was caught in his gaze, the multitude of her mixed emotions stirring in her eyes. Love, longing, desire, regret, despair. Neither of them breathed. Just a fraction of an inch separated them, their eyes locked together, burning with emotion. It would take but a tiny movement to close the distance. It would be so easy, so easy to lean in that fraction more and press her lips sweetly to his.

With tremendous effort, Mary closed her eyes and sighed, breaking the spell. She could not allow herself to succumb, could not allow Matthew to take undue encouragement when she knew she must break his heart by telling him of her night with Pamuk. It would not be fair to him. Though she desperately wanted to tell him how she loved him, she remained firm, her own heart breaking in the process. Matthew leaned away imperceptibly in response, not understanding but respecting her signal.

"Oh, Matthew," she sighed. "If only..." She paused, gathering her thoughts, noting with sadness the cloud of confusion in his eyes. "You must understand that this is not a simple matter for me. You cannot know all the things that I must consider before I can give you an answer." Her lips pursed in frustration at her own situation. She wanted so much to tell him the truth there and then, to shorten his pain, yet her lips would not provide the words. Though she knew that eventually she must, she just could not do it to him. "Believe me, dear Matthew, if only I could – but it is not so simple as I should like, and I cannot answer you yet. I am sorry."

Matthew dipped his head in understanding. Though he was disappointed, he took some small encouragement in her guarded words.

"It's alright, Mary. I appreciate that it's a big decision," he assured her kindly, reminding himself sternly of his own reasoning to his mother the night before.

"Thank you, Matthew. You are too good to me; I should not deserve you, I am sure!" Though her words were self-deprecating, Mary spoke lightly, Matthew taking her comment (as she had hoped he would) in jest. The mood lifted; his eyes sparkled at her, and they fell into an easy silence, each silently acknowledging the emotions and desires that ran between them like a current. Hands still entwined, they sat, simply enjoying each other's company for some pleasant hours under the warm afternoon sun.

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A/N: Thank you for getting this far! Comments, as always, will be massively appreciated. Thank you :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry for the delay on this chapter, my muse briefly left me (Thank you AriadneO for lending me yours!). The muse worked with a vengance, producing this. Massive thanks to Silverduck and Silvestria for their help and inspiration. Thank you for your kind comments so far, I hope you enjoy! :)

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**Chapter 4  
**

When Matthew had kindly suggested that Mary should take some time to think about answering his proposal, he had anticipated her to sleep on it. Maybe consider things for a day or so.

A week later, and he was beginning to feel frustrated.

He pondered their situation as he cycled home from the law firm that next Friday evening. In truth, he was baffled. In his mind, he chased thoughts round and around, circling from being one moment sure that she loved him, to the next wondering whether she cared for him at all. Sometimes, he was certain of her affection. When he thought back to her initial coolness towards him, he found it impossible to deny that her attitude had changed. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that she could not possibly be purposefully conjuring the look of affection in her eyes, the tremor of her voice when they spoke. He was not naive; he knew very well that she could turn on her charms when she liked. He had discovered so to his own expense, as she had flirted shamelessly with Sir Anthony Strallan purely to spite Edith. No, the way she now looked at him was different. There was a depth to her expression that he felt mirrored in his own. Surely, surely, she must care for him.

Considering this, he simply did not know why she had not yet accepted. He knew that his position could not be an obstacle. The doubt clawed at the back of his mind that maybe, just maybe, she was too set in her ways still to consider a middle-class social upstart who didn't deserve to be there. But would that really be enough to stop her, considering that her own family had accepted him so? He pursed his lips as it occurred to him that, for Mary, those would probably be exactly reasons enough. But could she really be so pig-headed and stubborn that she should let those reasons sway her, if she really did hold him in any affection? He bristled slightly at the thought.

As he turned the corner onto the small main street of Downton village, his breath caught as he noticed Mary herself exiting the post office. Instinctively, he turned his bicycle in her direction, before wavering. He suspected that she had been avoiding him these past few days; and was not sure that he could bear to pathetically throw himself at her mercy again only to be once more denied the satisfaction of an answer. It was ridiculous, he thought harshly. He loved her, was almost certain that she loved him, they had shared the most exquisite intimacy, and yet he was afraid to approach her. Making his mind up, and praying that he would not be rebuffed once more, he continued after her.

Mary jumped, panicking, as she heard the familiar ring of Matthew's bicycle bell behind her. Her stomach churned. She looked desperately around her; there was no escape, she would have to face him. She had been avoiding him for a few days now, wary after the pleasant afternoon they had spent in the grounds of Downton Abbey that day, after she had foolishly let her guard down to him again. In her heart, she longed to spend every moment with him, but she knew that every second she spent in his company brought her one second closer to having to tell him the truth. She knew perfectly well that avoiding him was not fair, that it was cruel to keep him hanging on, but she tried to convince herself that, in some twisted way, it was less cruel than him finding out the truth. She did not entirely succeed in her conviction.

It was ridiculous, she thought bitterly to herself. She loved him, she knew that now. He loved her, had proposed marriage to her, and she was able to open her heart to him as she felt she could with no-one else. Evidently just not on this one topic. And despite all this, he was the one person she was currently the most terrified to run into. She took a deep breath as she heard him dismount just behind her.

"Hello!" she turned and smiled at him with practised ease, skilfully disguising the turmoil she felt under the surface.

"Good afternoon," Matthew's lips raised warily into a half-smile. "I trust you are well?"

"Quite; thank you," she breezed. "I was just sending a telegram to Aunt Rosamund about the coming season. I must say I am looking forward to seeing her." Mary was pleasantly surprised at how normal she was sounding, considering the war raging within her. "And you? Are your labours ended for the week?"

"They are. I am a free man until Monday again," Matthew smiled. For a moment, he enjoyed their easy conversation and almost forgot how difficult things had been between them.

"Ah yes, your 'weekend'... Have you any plans for it?"

"No, nothing in particular," Matthew neglected to explain that what he would love to do the most was spend time with her; it did not matter what they would do or what they would talk about; just to be with her was enough. The prospect of anything else seemed dull in comparison. If she did not wish to reciprocate; well, he had resolved to sit inside feeling sorry for himself for a day or two.

"I see," Mary responded. A few moments of awkward silence passed, neither of them daring to turn the subject to the more serious matter of their relationship. Growing increasingly uncomfortable, Mary remedied the silence. "I am going riding tomorrow. Poor Diamond went lame last week; he is quite recovered now, so he's in need of some attention, I feel." Then, before she could stop herself – "You should come along!"

Instantly, she berated herself for a fool, wishing she could retract her words, but it was too late. Her deep-seated desire had formed itself into the invitation and expressed itself before she was able to comprehend or prevent it. There was nothing she could do but continue to smile expectantly at him, all the while soundly rebuking herself.

His mouth dropping open in surprise, Matthew blinked in confusion. He stared at her; considering her recent avoidance of him, could it really be that she had invited him to spend a day in her company? Unsure of her motives, he tried desperately to quell the rising hope that she had overcome her considerations and decided to accept him. Unable to read her expression, he did not dare, or desire, to refuse her. Indeed, he thought it quite beyond him to refuse her anything.

"That sounds lovely, thank you. I should like that very much indeed."

"Excellent; if you come down at about 11 o'clock tomorrow, I shall see that Lynch has a horse ready for you." A small part of Mary wished that he had said no; that he had some excuse. At the same time, she could not deny the small thrill she felt that he had accepted.

"Thank you; I shall look forward to it." He smiled his wonderful, hopeful smile that made her heart melt. "Very much so." Suddenly shy to meet his eyes, Mary smiled at the ground.

"As shall I. Goodbye, Cousin Matthew." He raised his hat; she dipped her head in shy delight as he cycled away.

* * *

"Mary, darling; where are you going?" Cora called across the sunlit hall of the big house.

"I am going riding, Mama."

"I do hope you haven't forgotten that we promised your Grandmother a visit this morning?" Cora raised an eyebrow questioningly. Mary had forgotten. She thought quickly.

"I'm going with Matthew, you know; Lynch has a horse waiting for him outside." Ah; her lips quirked in satisfaction as her mother's chiding expression changed.

"Well, if you've already –" she stopped herself before the phrase 'engaged yourself to Matthew' slipped out. "If you've already arranged things with Cousin Matthew, I'm sure that Granny will let you off. Just this once, mind..." Cora swiftly decided that Mary having tea with the Dowager Countess was not nearly so important as working things out with Matthew, and was relieved to see that she seemed to have stopped trying to avoid him. She knew that her mother-in-law would be equally impatient to hear of this development. Maybe it was for the best, after all.

Mary stepped outside into the stable yard, taking a deep breath of the fresh summer air. It was a beautiful day to go out riding. She resolved that if she must attempt to spend a day with Matthew and attempt to keep her head, some hard riding was probably the best way to deal with it.

She mounted Diamond, patting his neck affectionately. Though it had only been a week since she had ridden him, she had missed it greatly. She walked him a few steps gingerly, testing his recovery. Satisfied, she wheeled around, to be greeted with the sight of Matthew arriving.

Mary couldn't help it. She stared. Her eyes clouded, noting with appreciation his tighter than usual riding trousers and high, polished boots. Matthew, though he had seen Mary in riding attire before, still took a moment to admire her beauty which seemed amplified by the elegance with which she rode. Her open-mouthed stare did not pass him by, and he flushed, smiling slightly to himself.

"Good morning!" Mary recovered herself, blushing, angry that she had displayed her thoughts so openly. "Are you ready?"

"Absolutely!"

Mary gestured Matthew towards his horse, a steady grey mare. Though Mary knew that Matthew did ride, she knew that he had not in the two years he had been at Downton, and so was unsure of his abilities. He swung up easily into the saddle, and grinned confidently at her. "Shall we?" He guided the mare into an easy gait and set off, leaving Mary to raise an eyebrow in admiration as she swiftly set off behind him.

Soon, they reached the open countryside and increased their pace to a swift canter. Matthew felt exhilarated, it had been far too long since he had ridden, and this was just what he needed. He let the pounding of hooves under him drive out the bitterness that had been building in him over the last few days. Riding a fraction behind Mary, he snatched quick opportunities to gaze unashamedly at her proud back. It was obvious to him that she was in her element, as she skilfully guided Diamond over obstacles. He got the impression that, were it not for Diamond's recent injury, she would be purposefully taking the most difficult route across the fields that she could find.

Smiling mischievously, Matthew kicked his heels, urging his mount to a quicker pace to sail past Mary with ease, sending her a teasing wave as he passed. Her jaw dropping in indignation, Mary urged Diamond on, her competitive spirit rising. She felt a familiar thrill run through her veins as she drew level again with him, reluctantly impressed by Matthew's skill as a rider. Excitement bubbled within her as they chased each other back and forth; causing her to forget for a moment that soon she would have to bring their delight crashing down again with reality.

"You do know," Matthew called out over the sound of the wind rushing by them, his eyes ahead, "that I am worryingly unfamiliar with the geography of the countryside here? I'm sorry to admit that I have absolutely no idea where we are!" Mary laughed at his honesty. "As a result, I find myself completely at your mercy!" Mary's laugh died nervously on her lips at Matthew's loaded words. Blushing furiously, her gaze flew for a brief moment to him. She could see his skin glistening with perspiration from the exertion of riding. As desire coursed through her, she felt her eyes darken with passion. Shaking her head to clear her mind, she concentrated again on the path ahead.

Matthew's own smile faltered as the impact of what he had said hit him. He gulped, his breath catching as he met Mary's intense gaze for a second, before she looked ahead once more. His heart thudding, he desperately turned his attention to the terrain ahead of him, trying not to think too deeply about the look in her eyes and what it had meant.

Before long, they slowed to a stop in a field scattered with buttercups. Matthew swiftly dismounted, moving to help Mary. He suspected that she did not need assistance, but was glad when she accepted his hand.

"Thank you," she spoke smoothly, her voice level, having calmed the intensity of her emotion. "I had a small lunch prepared; I believe Lynch put it into your saddlebag." Matthew nodded, moving to retrieve the sandwiches.

Mary stood aside as Matthew spread a rug over the grass. She sat down, gracefully curling her legs under her as she smoothed her skirts carefully. They ate in silence for a while, enjoying the sunshine and each other's company. Occasionally, one would glance at the other, each trying to do so unnoticed. Eventually, it was Mary who broke the silence.

"You ride very well, you know," she tried not to sound too begrudging. "I must say I'm quite impressed!"

"Why, did you think I would not?" Matthew raised an eyebrow. Mary pursed her lips in response.

"Not at all, it's just that –"

"Shall I tell you what I think?" Matthew was practically smirking. "You thought that because I was a very middle-class lawyer from Manchester, that I should not partake of such gentlemanly pursuits as riding. And certainly, not very well." Mary's mouth opened indignantly, about to defend herself. "And clearly," Matthew continued, "because I do not hunt, that of course means I must be a terrible rider."

"Not at all!" Mary argued. "It was merely that I failed to see how you would have found much opportunity in Manchester –"

"As much as folk in London, I would imagine."

"- added to the fact that I have not seen you ride since you arrived here. I had only your word that you rode at all!"

Matthew smiled fondly at her indignation, which only served to increase it. Recovering her composure, she tried to take control of the conversation again.

"Anyway, why do you object to hunting so?"

"Have I ever said that I object to it? I believe I merely said that I do not do it." Matthew was immensely enjoying her reaction to his gentle teasing.

"Well, why not?"

"I suppose, if I am honest, it seems a little barbaric." Matthew pursed his lips.

"Oh." Mary had not considered that before. "You're right. That does make you very middle class!"

Though she meant it in jest, her last comment stung Matthew a little. He was freshly reminded of the doubt in the back of his mind; whether she truly considered him too 'middle-class' to marry. Yet again he was perplexed; they had shared a most enjoyable morning, should he take this as a sign of encouragement? He dared not bring it up, not wishing to shatter the dream.

"I expect you are right," he said, his voice level. "What appeal do you find in it, then?"

Mary had to think for a moment. She would certainly not admit to Matthew, of all people, that the main reason she participated in hunts, aside from the sheer enjoyment of riding, was simply because it was what one was expected to do. It had never really occurred to her whether she should choose to do it, or not, out of enjoyment.

"It's the thrill of the chase," she replied eventually. "It gives a purpose to riding; something to aim for. And the group spirit, everyone going along together, adds appeal."

"Hmm." Matthew considered her reply. "I take your point. There is not always a thrill in chasing, though, you know. Not if the chase runs too long." He looked pointedly at her.

Mary gasped quietly at the directness of his comment. Her mouth opened to make some reply, but none came. She had no excuse. Unable to meet his eyes, she stared resolutely at the ground in front of her, desperately hoping that either she would think of something to say, or that he would break the uncomfortable silence. The latter occurred first, to Mary's relief.

"Well," Matthew decided to change the subject rather than press Mary, for now. He had no wish to spoil the remainder of their day. "I meant what I said earlier, I really do have no concept of where we are. Could you enlighten me?"

"Of course," Mary spoke quietly, well aware of Matthew's kindness, and not quite meeting his eyes. "We are on the borders of Sir Anthony Strallan's land, actually. It lies just over the next fields."

"Ah." Matthew nodded. "Shall we press on, then?" Mary nodded gratefully. She meekly accepted Matthew's assistance to stand and mount Diamond, feeling a small thrill at their slight touch. She waited while he cleared the remainders of their picnic. This time, their pace increased much more quickly as Mary tried desperately to pound out her guilt at keeping Matthew waiting still longer. She should tell him. She must tell him. It was cruel not to; he deserved to be put out of his misery. She knew she had to tell him. But how, what could she possibly say? How could she start? How could she ever face him afterwards?

Mary was largely occupied with these considerations, galloping hard alongside a field boundary, when something most unexpected happened. As she reached the summit of the small incline of the field, a terrifying sound split the air; a deafening roar of steam and pistons. Over the brow of the hill, across the field boundary, appeared a throbbing, clanking machine that was tearing the ground behind it, with smoke pouring out of every orifice like some creature of the underworld.

Following some distance behind, what happened next appeared to Matthew as if in slow motion. Startled by the noise and sudden appearance of such a machine, Diamond stopped short, digging his hooves firmly into the ground. The sudden jarring movement threw Mary forwards, her thoughts having been too occupied with Matthew to recover her balance in time. As her foot flew out of the stirrup she irrevocably slid off, stumbling awkwardly onto her ankle as she landed.

"Mary!" Matthew yelled as he saw her tumble with a quiet yelp. Matthew kicked his heels, reaching her as swiftly as he could. He leapt off his horse as he approached, hitting the ground running to reach her. "Are you alright?" He crouched beside her, touching her shoulder gently, his face etched with concern. "What in heaven's name was that?" His eyes moved to the receding machine. Diamond stood warily, some distance away, pawing the ground nervously.

"It must be one of Sir Anthony's blasted new farm machines," Mary muttered, her voice laboured. Matthew was taken aback by her choice of words, though was not wholly surprised considering the circumstance. Mary hissed a breath through her teeth, clutching her leg in pain.

"You're hurt. Please, let me take a look." Matthew urged her gently.

"What?" Mary looked incredulously at him, as though it were the most ridiculous suggestion in the world. It would be entirely inappropriate for him to inspect her leg!

"Mary." Matthew's voice of reason broke through the cloud of her pain. "You are hurt. My father was a doctor and my mother is a nurse; I know well enough what I am doing. You must allow me to determine whether your leg is merely a sprain, or if it is more serious." His gaze, filled with worry and care, implored her. As a sharp twinge of pain hit her again, Mary bit her lip, nodding. For the moment, she did not care about the shame of having fallen in front of Matthew. She trusted him. Gingerly, she shifted her weight to extend her leg in front of her, gasping as she did so. "I'm going to have to remove your boot." Matthew said carefully, not quite sure himself whether it was a statement or a request. Mary nodded.

Matthew took a deep breath. Gently, almost reverently, he folded back Mary's skirt around her leg, just high enough to reach the top of her boot. It was all he could do to concentrate solely on the task in hand. Mary's health was more important than his own desires. He swiftly undid the laces, then supported her leg steadily with one hand as he tenderly removed the shoe, doing his best not to cause her further pain. He grimaced as she let out a small cry.

Through the dull throbbing of her ankle, Mary could feel Matthew's hands on her lower leg. His touch was warm and sure, gently applying pressure to her calf and ankle to assess the damage. Mary watched his hands work as if in a dream, staring unashamedly, observing also the look of tender concentration in his eyes. Her heart beat harder, faster, as a small swell of excitement crept through her veins at his touch. The warmth from his hands seemed to spread throughout her soul.

"It's just a sprain, thank goodness." Matthew's calm voice broke through her reverie. He raised his eyes to hers, trying futilely not to notice her glistening skin or the swell of her chest as she breathed heavily. "Your ankle is a little swollen; you'll need to stay off your feet for a few days. I'll ask my mother to check you over once we're back. Do you think you can stand, if I help you?"

Feeling dazed, Mary nodded. Matthew tenderly slipped her boot back on, lacing it only gently. He carefully rearranged her skirt, swallowing hard as he did so. He held out a hand to her, reaching the other around her shoulders to support her as she stood. He had not expected that this action would pull her quite so closely into him, further compounded by her small wobble as she regained her balance with her weight on only one foot. Mary gasped slightly as she leaned on Matthew's chest, her face definitely, certainly too close to his. She could feel his warm breath upon her cheek. The pain in her leg fleeing momentarily from her mind, she raised her eyes slowly to his. She felt as though her skin were burning where her body touched his, the heat pervading down to her very core. They shared an emotionally charged gaze, both barely breathing. Matthew's eyes roved across her face in wonder, tracing her lips before moving back up to her dark, passion-filled eyes.

He forgot that she had only just fallen from her horse and injured herself. He forgot that she had been avoiding him. He forgot that she hadn't accepted his proposal. The only thought in his mind was that he desperately needed to kiss the beautiful woman in front of him. Mary was similarly entranced. She saw his eyes move to her lips, and held her breath. Excitement swelled in her chest in anticipation, remembering the last time she had seen that look in his eyes. As they leaned imperceptibly closer, it struck Mary like a thunderbolt that if she allowed herself to kiss him, she would be irrevocably surrendered to him. She would never be able to tell him, she would no longer be able to resist him, not if she surrendered now.

At the last moment, with great regret weighing on her heart, she dipped her face into his shoulder. She heard him sigh above her, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Matthew was desperately disappointed, but understood that propriety may have overridden her desires. He could not withhold his question any longer. He had to know.

"Mary, have you thought any further about my proposal?"

"I think of little else." She responded quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Have you an answer for me?" Matthew asked bluntly.

Mary raised her eyes gingerly to his, stammering.

"I – " She blinked away another tear. "I – I don't know yet."

Matthew breathed in sharply.

"How can you not yet know?" His brows furrowed in frustration, his patience waning. "Is it that you feel nothing for me? Is it my position? Is it that I do not deserve it? What is it Mary, I must know!" His questions came out more harshly than he intended. He was not sure he cared.

"No – no it isn't that."

"Then, what?" Silence. Matthew laid his heart on the line. "Mary, do you love me? Because I love you. There, I have said it. I love you, very dearly. If you love me, if you wish to marry me, then accept me." He paused. "If you do not, tell me plainly so I may be spared this torture."

Mary opened her mouth but no words came. Tell him. _Tell him. _She fought herself, desperately struggling to spill the truth from her lips, but she could not. She could not bear it. _Tell him!_ Nothing. Grasping his arm for support still, she turned her body away from him.

"We must be getting back." Her voice was quiet and sad; she did not have the energy to raise it any further.

"Yes." Matthew's voice was cold, and it cut her heart. Without a further word, he helped her gently back up onto Diamond, making sure that her sprained leg would not be further discomforted by her position. He kept his eyes on the ground, knowing that if he looked at her he would betray how deeply hurt he was by her silence. He was so sure that she had shared his desire. He did not imagine it. He could not have mistaken it. He knew that she loved him. Why, why could she not answer him?

They rode slowly back to the abbey in uncomfortable silence. Mary carefully led the way, subdued, her head dipped in shame at herself. She had hurt him so deeply and he was still so good, so kind, so virtuous. She wanted to hate him. She wished he could give her a reason to say no; do something terrible so that she could justifiably refuse him and save him from the filth of her character. She wished that he were cruel so that she would not love him so desperately, so that it would not be so difficult to reject him. But no. He was as near to perfect as she imagined a man could be. Bitter tears flowed down her cheeks. Matthew rode slightly behind, his eyes fixed coldly on the ground by Diamond's hooves, just enough to be able to follow. He could not bear to look at Mary.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the stable yard of the big house. Stony-faced, Matthew dismounted and assisted Mary, avoiding her eyes. He handed the reins of both horses to the stable boy, nodding his thanks, before supporting Mary to the door. They were alone.

"Thank you," Mary whispered. "You are too good to me."

"Mary, I am not a plaything." Matthew spoke harshly, frowning. "I have feelings. It isn't fair of you, to lead me to believe that you care for me and yet refuse to accept me. I can't wait forever. I won't."

"I know. You don't understand – "

"Then make me understand!" Matthew struggled to keep his voice level.

Mary could utter no response but to shake her head slowly, her eyes filling once more with tears. Matthew's eyes flashed in anger, disappointment, frustration. She could not bear it.

Sighing bitterly, Matthew reached past her to ring the bell. He stared straight ahead of him, unable to look at her, with fire in his eyes. After seconds that felts like hours, Carson opened the door. The stoic butler immediately noticed the tears in Mary's eyes, and observed how she leaned on Matthew's arm, her weight on one leg.

"My Lady?"

"Lady Mary suffered a fall I'm afraid." Matthew responded to Carson's unvoiced question, concentrating hard on making his expression impassive. It would be best for Carson to assume that Mary's discomfort was due entirely to her injury. "It is only a sprained ankle, but please inform Lord Grantham that I'll send my mother along to check her over shortly." Carson nodded.

"Thank you, Mr Crawley. Will you be coming in?"

"No. Thank you." Matthew gently passed Mary's arm to Carson. Her eyes tried desperately to meet Matthew's, her expression pleading with him to not hate her quite so. When she did, she was met only with an icy stare. "I thank you for a pleasant morning, Lady Mary. Goodbye."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for getting this far! Reviews/feedback would be MUCH appreciated. I hope you've enjoyed it, there's more to come.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello! Thank you, as always, for your kind reviews, and thank you for coming back to read the next bit! Massive thanks to silverduck for making sure it was ok! Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Matthew frowned as Molesley attached his cufflinks. He was preparing for dinner at Downton Abbey with his mother, and did not want to go. In fact, there was nothing he could think of that he would rather do less, at this moment.

He had not seen Mary since their eventful ride, three days ago. He had remained tight-lipped to his mother about what had occurred between them, telling her merely that he had enjoyed the opportunity to ride again. Of course he had had to tell her about Mary's fall, but nothing beyond that; and he doubted Mary would have spoken of their conversation. He suspected that Isobel probably saw through his lack of elaboration of the matter, but he didn't really care. He was just thankful that she had not pressed him about it. He could not bear to speak of it yet, the pain of rejection too fresh in his heart. He could not speak of how he had exposed his feelings so barely, had openly admitted to loving her, and had received silence in return. He felt such a fool.

And now, he would have to face her. Her, and all of them. At dinner. All of them knowing how he adored her and wanted to marry her, and that she had not yet given him an answer, leaving him exposed and hanging pitifully for her response. All of them; sitting around the table, looking at him; knowing. He couldn't bear it.

He desperately wished that he could not go. That he could hole himself up at home and not see them. Yet he knew that if he didn't go, it would only prove their inclinations to be correct and cause them to pity him even more. That would be worse.

"Are you quite alright, Sir?"

Matthew shook himself to awareness at Molesley's question, realising that his valet had been standing holding his coat ready for probably quite some time.

"Of course; yes I am. Sorry, Molesley." Matthew apologised, smiling weakly as he shrugged his coat onto his shoulders. "I must have just drifted off for a second."

Molseley smiled at him as he brushed down the back of his coat. His master had been out of sorts for a few days now; he was well aware. He did not presume to wonder why, but had observed how Matthew would stiffen imperceptibly every time the subject of the Crawley's, or the big house, cropped up.

"There we are, Sir." Molesley stepped back in satisfaction.

"Thank you, Molesley." After a quick check in the mirror, Matthew turned to leave. "I shouldn't think we'll be back too late this evening."

"Of course. I'll see that everything is ready for your return." Molesley nodded respectfully as Matthew left.

"Are you quite ready, dear?" Isobel called from the hall as Matthew descended the stairs. "You've taken your time this evening!"

"Yes, I am," Matthew spoke quickly, grabbing his hat as he walked purposefully out of the door. "Let's go." He could not admit to his mother how he had purposefully dressed slower than usual, in an effort to spare himself as much pre-dinner discomfort as he could. The sooner this evening was over with, the better.

* * *

Mary stared despondently at the floor as her family chattered around her. She was not inclined to participate when there was nothing that seemed worth talking about. The only thing on her mind was Matthew. _Matthew_. He had said that he loved her. She closed her eyes, remembering his voice as he had said those precious words. How could she face him after having treated him so cruelly? She was dreading his arrival, dreading how he would look at her. Her eyes fell to the bandage still around her ankle, a constant reminder of his care for her. She shivered as she remembered the feel of his hands upon her.

She knew her family disapproved of her delay. Only her mother and granny knew of the true reason for it. As for the others; well, she didn't really care what they thought. Her father probably thought that she was rebelling, as she knew he would like her to accept. If only it were that simple! Edith, she imagined, suspected her to be cruelly toying with poor Matthew's emotions, not really caring for him in the slightest. She scoffed inwardly. If only she could say that were true! Dear, romantic Sybil likely just thought that Mary was trying to gauge her true feelings; whether she loved him enough to devote herself to him. If only that were the sole issue to ascertain!

Mary sighed. Any of those, she considered, would be preferable to the awful trap she found herself in. Of being so desperately in love with him, yet unable to tell him so. There was no way out but heartbreak. Really, she knew she should just get it over with. Yet as long as she didn't tell him, there was still a tiny seed of hope, still the occasional moment of shared happiness when they smiled at each other and knew what it meant.

She froze as the door clicked open.

"Mr Crawley and Mrs Isobel Crawley," Carson's important voice rang out.

"Matthew! Isobel, hello." Robert greeted the pair warmly.

"Good evening," Matthew returned with a polite smile. He fixed his eyes determinedly on his benefactor, not trusting himself to search the room for Mary, as his instinct would have him do. Mary, from her seated position, raised her eyes a fraction, managing to stare at Matthew's legs. She dare not look any higher; dare not risk catching his eyes.

"Good evening, Lord Grantham," Isobel accepted his hand. "We are sorry to have kept you waiting."

Cora smiled graciously at the pair, gliding across the room to greet them.

"It's so good to see you both; we were beginning to wonder where you were!"

"You have my sincere apologies. It is my fault entirely," Matthew offered.

"Well," the Dowager Countess piped up from her seat at the side of the room, not appreciating being made to wait; "you are here now, I suppose."

"Shall we go in?" Robert ushered the family through to the spacious dining room.

They took their seats around the table. Cora directed Matthew to be seated between Robert and Isobel. He wasn't sure if he felt more relieved or insulted. He was glad not to be in close proximity to her, to be forced into polite conversation that he was not in the mood for. Yet the fact that he had been seated away from her meant that the family were surely very aware of the uncomfortable situation between them. He glared at his plate.

"Matthew, we have not seen you yet to thank you for your assistance when Mary hurt herself!" Cora gushed suddenly.

Wonderful, Matthew groaned inwardly.

"I assure you, it was nothing." He raised his eyebrows imploringly at Cora. Robert smiled next to him, understanding Matthew's unwillingness to recognise his own attributes; not understanding that Matthew most certainly did not want to discuss his having 'saved' Mary, of all people.

"On the contrary!" Cora continued, oblivious. "I don't know what she would have done if she'd have fallen without you there."

"I think you've been quite the hero lately, Mr. Crawley," Sybil smiled widely at him from across the table, remembering his recent assistance following her encounter in Ripon. Her eyes sparkled at him. Yes, she had felt drawn to him as he had so tenderly helped her up; she understood well though his feelings for her eldest sister, and hers for him. She was quite happy to sit back and observe the interplay between them.

"Hmm," Violet murmured in rare agreement. "It certainly seems you can be quite a useful sort of chap to have around. On occasion."

Matthew felt his cheeks flush. He hated to be the centre of any sort of attention. He hated that they all thought him some kind of hero. He hated that they all thought him so wonderful, when the one person he cared about the most displayed such indifference.

"Really," he insisted, his discomfort forcing the words out more harshly than he intended. "All I did was made sure it was no worse than a sprain. I expect that a monkey could have done the same." Matthew ignored the sharp look of rebuke from his mother. "It was nothing. I'm sure Mary would agree." He tried to keep the note of bitter regret out of his voice.

Matthew stared uncomfortably at his food as he felt the eyes of everyone in the room upon him. He hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant to bring her into it. His skin prickled as he felt the pity emanate from their gaze; everyone surely having understood the true meaning behind his cold words.

"On the contrary," Mary's uncharacteristically small, quiet voice seemed to shatter the silence. She held herself firm as Matthew's eyes snapped to hers, his expression a barely concealed mix of confusion, pain and longing. She took a sharp intake of breath at the intensity of it, trying to ignore the flutter of her heart. She told herself she didn't care that her family were staring. The only thing that mattered was him. "Your assistance meant a great deal to me, and I thank you for it."

Matthew scoffed inwardly. _His assistance_? His simple assistance meant more to her than the fact that he had laid his heart bare at her feet, only to be trampled upon? No, that she did not care for; but his brief evaluation of her injury, that was worth thanks? His knuckles turned white as he gripped his cutlery in frustration. He forced out a response through gritted teeth.

"You are welcome, of course. I would have done the same for anyone."

Mary flinched at the hardening of his expression, unable to think what had offended him so. Wilting under his hard gaze, her eyes lowered to her plate. Wishing she had remained silent, she sighed quietly, wishing that she could excuse herself without it being painfully obvious as to why.

The family looked on in astonishment, entranced. As far as they had been aware, Mary and Matthew had enjoyed a pleasant ride on Saturday, marred only by a slight accident which Mary was recovering well from. Clearly, something more significant had occurred between the two; as to what, though, could be anyone's guess. Cora, desperate to recover the atmosphere before either of the pair said something irreparable, racked her brain for a subject to move the discussion on to.

"We are all grateful, Matthew, to you and your mother." Ever the hostess, Cora smiled warmly at Isobel, not forgetting her aid as well. "Now then, Sybil, darling, I've been wondering. Have you decided upon a colour for your ball gown yet? We shall need to be placing the order soon!"

An audible breath of relief was released around the table. Mary's eyes shot gratefully to her mother's.

"Nearly, Mama!" Sybil gushed, excited about her coming season and equally relieved that the conversation had moved on. "I am simply torn now between purple and blue. But I have chosen the lace trim for certain!"

Mary chuckled humourlessly to herself at the transparency of the situation, as the rest of the family joined in with excessive enthusiasm to discuss Sybil's upcoming ball. The falsity of it irritated her, though she could not deny being glad that the focus was no longer on her and Matthew. Tentatively, she looked at him. She was slightly disappointed to note that he no longer seemed so affected. How ridiculous, she thought, angry at herself. His every waking thought need not be about her! She wished so fervently that she was not causing him so much distress by her delay; why now should she feel disappointed if her wish was granted? Fresh pain touched her heart as she carefully watched him from across the table, savouring each stolen glimpse of his handsome features. How she longed for his engaging smile, his sparkling eyes, to be turned towards her once more in affection. She feared she had ruined any chance of feeling that delight ever again.

Matthew made a show of taking an interest in the conversation, nodding and agreeing where necessary. He hated the pretence, but feared the repercussive questioning from his mother if he were to carry on sulking. He also was well aware that Lord Grantham would probably want to talk about Mary as well, once the ladies had retired. He hoped that by engaging himself in the family's chatter now, his earlier outburst would soon be forgotten, and he would not have to endure any further pitying looks or words.

On the inside, he was a mess. He felt as though his heart had suffered blow after blow from Mary. He should be angry. He _was_ angry. When he could, he stole a glance across the table at her, always avoiding her eye. Each time he looked at her, saw her beauty, noticed the shimmer of her skin and the hidden depths of her eyes, gave a fresh blow to his heart. Yet though it hurt him, he could not resist her. He chastised himself for his boyish fixation; as he realised that were she only to say the word, to look at him fondly even, he would draw her swiftly into his arms forgetting all that had gone before.

And so they continued, each watching the other, the family watching them, with not one soul aware of what was passing in any other's heart.

* * *

Matthew and Robert relaxed once the ladies had retired to the drawing room, easing their chairs back more comfortably. Robert lost no time in pouring them both a glass of brandy, which Matthew accepted gratefully.

"Thank you," he smiled weakly. "I think I need this."

"I thought you might," Robert frowned sympathetically. "Mary was very quiet after her return on Saturday, but we thought not much of it. What on earth had happened?" He asked precisely the question that Matthew had been dreading.

"It was nothing, really." He muttered into his glass. Robert merely raised his eyebrows, not believing this to be true for a moment, and waited. Matthew sighed a little. "I'd really rather not talk about it, Sir, if you don't mind."

"As you wish; I shan't press you." Robert relented kindly, receiving a grateful smile in return. "She has not refused you, though, has she?"

"No. No, she hasn't." Matthew spoke quietly, a note of resignation in his voice.

"Well then, we may take some comfort in that at least," offered Robert; though he knew the comfort was small.

"Thank you, Lord Grantham. I will try to. If I'm honest I half wish that she would, just to spare me this –" he stopped himself, not wanting to unburden his feelings on or induce the pity of Lord Grantham. In truth, he had just about given up any hope of her accepting him, now. He just wished that she would tell him one way or the other.

"On a more pleasant matter," Robert hoped that the change of subject would lighten Matthew's spirits a little; "do you intend to join us in London over the season? We would very much like it if you did."

"I should like to," Matthew smiled genuinely for the first time that evening. "However, I fear that my work commitments will not allow me to be away for long." Robert nodded in understanding. "I certainly intend to make it down for Sybil's ball though at the very least; I would hate to miss that." As much as Matthew was finding it difficult to be around the Crawley's at the moment, he was fond of Sybil, and could gather how much the coming season meant to her.

"Splendid!" Robert smiled widely, beaming with pride for his youngest daughter. He was glad that Matthew would be making the effort to come too; cementing once more his deserved place within the family.

* * *

Cora watched Mary carefully in the drawing room, as Sybil chattered happily and Isobel and Violet did their best to ignore each other. The young woman had barely spoken a word since her small, but explosive, contribution at dinner. Now, she sat once more, gazing at nothing in particular, playing nervously with her necklace. Frowning gently in concern, Cora's heart went out to her eldest daughter, and she made a mental note to speak to her later in private. Her ears pricked as she heard the topic of conversation that Sybil had chosen.

"One hears so many rumours flying around the town about Europe now; do you really think there might be some risk of war?"

Mary's brows rose, her interest piqued; though she chose to remain silent.

"Sybil, darling..." Cora warned gently.

Violet's brows also rose; more in shock than interest.

"Goodness me, Sybil! It's a good job we have finished our dinner!"

"But Granny, don't you think it's important to talk about?" Sybil looked around pleadingly for someone to take on the topic with her. "We should not be in ignorance of what is happening in the world!"

"I quite agree," Isobel cut in, answering Sybil though her eyes were challengingly upon Violet. "It is important to keep ourselves up to date with happenings at large. Though events in the smaller European nations may seem of little significance, who knows what could happen if the greater powers decide to get involved!" Isobel was feeling quite pleased with her worldly knowledge, but bristled as she caught the roll of Violet's eyes.

"Do you think it could really affect Britain, though?" Cora asked, curious. She suspected that Sybil and Isobel may be right; there was no use denying that trouble seemed to be brewing, far away though it seemed.

"I don't know," Isobel said truthfully. "I think that, in modern society, war is always possible."

"Even if Britain were to go to war though," Edith offered her thoughts on the matter; "I hardly think that it should affect _us_."

"Oh Edith, don't be so naive." Mary's sudden outburst after her silence all evening caused all eyes in the room to turn to her; however, she was oblivious. As she verbalised the thoughts that had been playing on her mind, they grew and scared her more than she would like to admit. "Don't you understand? If there is war, men will have to fight. If men fight, they will die – Matthew might –"

Mary stopped short, her eyes wide as she realised she had betrayed herself. Her eyes drifted closed, letting out a sigh of resignation, as she willed away the stares of her family.

"Funny;" Edith piped up again. "I shouldn't have thought that would bother you."

Mary's eyes snapped open, her blood boiling, to glare in disbelief at her sister.

"What?" Her voice was like ice.

"Edith, that was unkind..." Cora cautioned. Edith ignored her, the temptation to jibe Mary too great.

"Well, you haven't shown much indication of caring much for our poor cousin, recently, have you?"

Mary rose unsteadily to her feet, trembling with anger.

"How dare you speak of my feelings for Matthew. How dare you! You know nothing of how I care for him, how much I –" She blinked away stinging tears, glaring furiously at Edith. Her gaze moved around the room, taking in her family's open-mouthed surprise at her outburst. Each shrank back, even Violet, at the ferocity in her eyes. "You know not a jot of my feelings. None of you do!"

Mary suddenly seemed to wilt, her hand drifting to her forehead. She suddenly felt very exposed; unable to bear the pitying expressions of her family. The room closed in around her and she suddenly struggled to breath. "You must excuse me, I have a headache," she whispered. Her head bowed, she escaped the room, leaving behind the stunned faces of her family.

"Well. I fear she has left us in little doubt of her feelings!" Violet was the first to break the silence, distractedly smoothing her skirt.

"Poor Mary," Sybil felt for her eldest sister. "I just know that she cares for Matthew; why then doesn't she accept him?"

"I don't know," Cora murmured, not wholly without truth. Yes, she knew of Mary's true reason for delay, but she did not pretend to understand it, or agree with it. As far as Cora was concerned, both Mary and Matthew would be far better off, and happier, if she just accepted him. Suddenly she remembered Isobel, who must surely have been surprised by Mary's behaviour. "I am sorry, Isobel. How is Matthew dealing with it all?"

"Not very well, I fear," Isobel said plainly. It warmed her heart that Cora should remember her also; after all, she did find it distressing to see her dear son so discouraged. "It is very hard on him, really."

"Of course it is." Cora smiled apologetically at Matthew's mother. "If it's of any comfort, I can tell you that Mary certainly does care for Matthew; very much so, I think. Believe me, I wish that she would accept him, for both their sakes!"

"Thank you," Isobel nodded gratefully. "Yes, I do believe she might. If only dear Matthew could know that!"

As the women fell once more into comfortable chatter, the door clicked open and Matthew and Robert entered. Matthew instantly realised that Mary was missing after a quick scan of the room, unable to help a brief pang of disappointment not to see her. Once more he chided himself for caring too deeply, reminding himself of the hurt she caused him.

"Where is Mary?" Robert enquired, noticing that she was missing. Matthew was relieved that Robert had asked, as he could not have done so without drawing pitiful attention to himself.

"She retired with a headache, I'm afraid," Cora supplied. She did not miss the opportunity for a brief frown at Edith for her role in Mary's departure. Matthew felt an odd mix of relief and disappointment, and tried hard to look as indifferent as he could, not wishing the family to know that either was true.

* * *

The evening holding no appeal for Matthew, he looked pleadingly to his mother, and they made their excuses as swiftly as they were politely able to. Sitting in the car on the way back to Crawley House, Isobel watched her son's troubled expression.

"Are you quite alright my dear? I know this evening was difficult for you." Though she didn't want to make him feel any more uncomfortable, she was deeply concerned for him.

"Yes." Matthew briefly raised his eyes to hers. Isobel caught a fleeting glimpse of anguish before they hardened in resolve. "I shall be fine, mother. I hardly expected Mary to say yes, in any case."

"Remember that she hasn't refused you, though, either." Isobel gently tried to encourage him. Matthew merely shrugged before looking out of the window, his face impassive. "There is hope in that, Matthew, I think."

"So it would appear," Matthew said coldly, not taking any encouragement. "Let's forget it for now, mother, please. I've had a pleasant evening otherwise; let's not speak of it anymore."

"As you wish, my dear." Isobel reached across and fondly rubbed Matthew's arm. She desperately hoped that Cora was right about Mary's feelings; and hoped even more desperately that Mary would realise them too, and soon.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for getting this far! I know this chapter is not in my usual style (i.e. Mary and Matthew only speak one line to each other!). But I hope you enjoyed it :) Reviews always appreciated! More to come :)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you for coming back to read some more! Thanks again for any reviews/comments, and thank you to silverduck for making my grammar better! Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Cora knocked softly at the door of Mary's bedchamber. Gaining no response, she pressed her ear lightly to the door, hearing soft sobs coming from inside. She quietly pushed open the door, leaning her head around it to assess the situation. Inside, Mary lay where she had collapsed across her bed, her head on her arms, her shoulders shaking gently as her tears escaped.

"Oh my darling..." Cora whispered as she moved swiftly to her daughter's side. She perched on the edge of the bed, hesitating a moment before laying a hand tentatively on Mary's back. As Mary did not show any indication of acknowledging the gesture, Cora frowned sadly, rubbing her hand in soothing circles. She had not comforted her daughter in such a manner in many years, not since she was a little girl; Mary was too proud a creature now to allow herself to be soothed thus. Her allowance gave silent testament to the magnitude of her distress.

Eventually, Mary's sobs began to quieten. Cora removed her hand to her lap, allowing her to slowly sit up. Mary sniffed quietly, wiping the tears from her stained cheeks.

"Mama..." Her voice sounded ragged in her throat. "I am sorry for my outburst, but I could not help it."

"Hush, my child," Cora touched her daughter's cheek softly. "You have done nothing to apologise for."

"Oh Mama, do not patronise me!" Mary cried. "You and I both know that my behaviour was disgraceful! I know that you merely pity me for my wretchedness! For wretched I am, indeed!" Her hand rose to cover her face as another sob heaved from her chest.

"Oh Mary," Cora pressed her lips into a sympathetic smile. "I suppose your outburst may have demonstrated a modicum of impropriety; but it is of no matter among family. We all understand why, my darling; what Edith said was very unkind." Though Cora might have come down harder upon her eldest daughter for such a display under normal circumstances, her sympathy for Mary's plight overrode this.

"Mama!" Mary's face dropped further in anguish. "That is even worse, don't you understand? To think that my woe is so publicly displayed and known!" She could not bear to think of all their shocked, pitying expressions as she had fled the drawing room earlier that evening. Discussing and picking over her behaviour like gossiping vultures. The thought sickened her.

"Sorry, darling, I didn't mean to upset you further." Cora instantly regretted her ill-chosen words, laying her hand on Mary's arm in a gesture of apology.

"It is of no consequence;" Mary spoke bitterly in resignation. "I have recklessly laid my feelings bare to be dissected and disapproved by you all; I have none to blame for that but myself." She let out a harsh sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I am a creature to be pitied indeed! Oh Mama, I cannot bear it. It is too hard!"

Cora looked sorrowfully at her eldest daughter, contemplating her difficult situation. Of course she had discussed the matter at length with Violet; and still there was only one solution they could see. After a few moments of anguished silence, Cora tentatively asked what was in her mind.

"Mary, are you still utterly convinced that you must tell Matthew?"

"Of course I must tell him!" Mary exclaimed.

"But why, darling?" Cora implored her daughter to reconsider her stance.

"Because – because I cannot lie to him, Mama. I care too much for him to allow him to take me as his wife believing me to be something I am not!" Mary shook her head despairingly at her own stubbornness, but she was determined in her conviction. Matthew meant far too much to her to be able to deceive him.

"And what do you suppose his reaction will be when he learns this?" Cora held her gaze firm; Mary was unable to do so, her eyes dropping to her hands in her lap.

"I imagine he should rightfully think me unworthy to marry, and will renounce his love for me." She took a deep, shuddering breath as she felt the hollow pain that this would leave in her heart.

"Have you seriously considered how deeply it would hurt him, though, Mary? And what would you expect him to do following your revelation? Remain at Downton, supping with us as though it were all forgotten?"

"No! I don't know. But that doesn't change the fact that he deserves to know the truth!"

"Does he not deserve to be happy?" Cora raised her eyebrows. "Mary, it is abundantly clear that Matthew loves you. And you have admitted to me yourself, and your actions declare, that you return his affection. If you tell him of your indiscretion, you resign both of you to misery. Now tell me, is that fair? Is it deserved?"

Mary sorrowfully released the breath she was not aware she had been holding as her mother's words sank in. For the first time, she was unable to formulate a defence of her decision.

"I don't know, Mama." Cora sensed Mary's wavering, and squeezed her hand gently, pressing home her point.

"Just consider how happy you would make you both by accepting, my darling!"

"But I am not sure that I deserve to be happy!" Mary blurted out the most tragic of her considerations. It was true; on some level, she felt that she was a soul so beyond recovery that she did not deserve happiness at all, let alone Matthew's love.

"Oh, Mary!" Cora's heart ached for her daughter. "Of course you do! You may have acted foolishly in the past, but that does not condemn you to a lifetime of misery! What is done is done; none of us can alter that." She looked grave at the memory of that terrible night. "It is in the past, Mary, it should not affect your future; there is certainly no need for it to affect Matthew's future happiness."

"I'm sorry Mama, I still think he deserves to know. We have always been so honest with each other! I don't think I could live under a lie. Not with Matthew."

"Well, it must be up to you, my darling," Cora sighed. She squeezed Mary's hand again with one last attempt to sway her. "I urge you to consider, though; that you have the power to direct your future, yours and Matthews. Your decision will either allow you both a lifetime of happiness, or consign yourselves to misery. Please, Mary, think carefully."

Mary nodded mutely. For the first time, a seed of doubt speared into her heart. Was it really worth it? Her mother was right, to tell him spelt certain misery... Though she knew she deserved it, could she really claim to subject Matthew to that as well? But then, would it be right for him to gain happiness that was not honest or true? Happiness in a marriage covered by a lie? Her head bowed, she closed her eyes, her face crumpling under the weight of the decision.

Sensing that she had done enough for the moment, Cora stood to leave. She touched Mary's cheek briefly, kissing the top of her head as she rose. She turned at the door, whispering goodnight to her eldest and most difficult daughter. As she closed the door, she could only hope and pray that Mary would do the right thing.

* * *

Several days later, Matthew strode through Ripon on his lunch break, staring blankly at the ground in front of his feet. He was not angry any more. Bitterness still weighed on his heart, but what weighed heavier now was more a despondent resignation. He had resigned himself to the prospect that Mary would not accept him. There was no use in torturing himself with false hope any more. It had been a dream... He could see that now. He sighed heavily. Sometimes, his mind taunted him with thoughts of how things might have been different; if Mary had delightedly accepted him, declaring her regard and affection. How they might have laughed together, shared smiles and kisses, delighting in each other's company and their shared affection. How she might have become his wife, his very own to love and cherish and... He clenched his fists, trying to banish prospects of what might have been from his mind. It was useless; it would not happen now, there was no use in tormenting himself further.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a soft exclamation just in front of him. He looked up sharply, realising that he had nearly walked into his cousin. They stood facing each other for a moment in surprise at their meeting thus.

"Good afternoon, cousin Mary," he greeted her, cool and cautious, his face displaying nothing. All his energy was going into quelling the stirrings of his soul that he felt whenever faced with her. He clasped his hands behind his back, looking around him distractedly. He suspected that he couldn't just leave, much as he would like to; now they had greeted each other. "What brings you to Ripon?"

"Hello Matthew," having recovered her shock at meeting so unexpectedly, she tried smiling at him. She didn't think she quite managed it, the memory of his last words in anger to her biting at the back of her mind. "I am here on the vital mission of ordering a dress for Sybil's ball. Mama has desperately been trying to sway me to her own choice..." Mary's words trailed off as she recalled her mother's attempts to sway her on another, far more pressing matter. She looked at Matthew now in a new light, with a glimmer of hope in her heart. Though searching his impassive face now, she wasn't sure that it was not too late. Her heart sank once more, her soul filling with regret.

"I see," Matthew responded politely. He was determined to remain in control of his feelings. Though it tore his heart bitterly to think of, he had to allow himself to move on. Straining to keep his voice level and cool, he continued. "When do you all leave for London?"

"At the end of the week. Papa said that you would only be joining us for a day or two for Sybil's ball?" She wanted to tell him how much she wished he were coming for longer, how much she'd miss him in the time until he arrived. How much she _had_ missed him, over this last week or so when she had begun to lose him. The cold, unfeeling exterior he now presented, such a contrast from the eager, passionate warmth he had shown her previously, made her shudder.

"Yes; I'm afraid I can get no further time off work." Not that he would have wanted to go for any longer, anyway, not as things were. He was quite relieved at the prospect of brief isolation from them, from having an ever-present reminder of his failed proposal in front of him.

"I'm sorry to hear that;" Mary spoke sincerely.

Matthew frowned, puzzled at the sentiment she expressed. Why should she be sorry that he could be there so briefly? He would have thought she would be glad of it. He did not dwell on the thought too extensively.

"And when do you all return?" He told himself that he was asking purely out of politeness, that it didn't really matter to him how long she would be away from him for. He tried to ignore the fact that his heart ached at the prospect of her not being near.

"My family returns in the first week of July; I will be staying on in London with Aunt Rosamund for a further two weeks."

Matthew's head rose sharply at this information. Something inside him seemed to snap; it was one knock too far for him to be able to bear.

"Of course you are," he snapped bitingly.

"What?" Mary looked incredulously at him, unable to understand his sudden turn of anger.

"Of course you are staying longer in London, staying away from here. From me." Matthew's emotions had spilt over, his calm resignation forgotten. "You clearly cannot face being near me, not after everything –"

"Matthew!" Mary interrupted him, shocked and quite hurt by his outburst. "How dare you assume to know my motives! I'll have you know that the reason I am staying with my aunt is because I have not seen her for an age, and wish to spend some time with her! Is that acceptable to you?" She glared challengingly at him.

"No!" Matthew fought back harshly, his voice just above a whisper. "Can you truly deny that a desire to avoid me makes up a small part of your reasoning?" His face suddenly turned to a look of bitter regret. "Just look at us, Mary. We are barely able to speak to each other without an argument, not since – since..."

"Since you proposed and I have not given you an answer?" Mary's voice was surprisingly calm.

"Yes." His voice trembled against his best efforts. Mary's eyes fell to the ground, unable to combat this simple truth. It was ridiculous, the state they had now come to. Matthew continued, bitterly. "Your father and my mother believe that I should take some comfort in the fact that you have not actually rejected my proposal." He smiled wryly, as though this were the most ridiculous belief in the world.

"I believe that you should!" Mary desperately seized the opportunity to try to make him see that all was not beyond hope, without giving too much away. "You speak as though I had rejected you, cousin; there is a very great difference between that and needing time to settle my decision."

"Is there?" Matthew cut back. Part of him was clinging desperately to the nugget of hope Mary had just given him, but for the most part he was too cynical and bitter now to believe it. "Mary, if you wanted to marry me – if you loved me – you would have accepted. Maybe not straight away, I understand that – but Mary, it has been two weeks. What should you expect me to believe?"

"To use your argument against you, cousin; if I did _not_ want to marry you –" she paused a moment, taking a breath. "– if I did _not_ – love you – I should have definitely rejected you, surely?" She tentatively met his gaze. His clear blue eyes were clouded with puzzlement, confusion, disbelief.

"Then why have you not?" He uttered eventually, his voice containing a quiet challenge. She knew that his question referred to both possibilities.

She might have told him, then, about Pamuk. But now there was a new doubt in her mind, of whether to tell him at all? Her face fell as she once again could not answer him satisfactorily. She could not reveal her indecision; could not tell him that she must reveal something before giving her answer – for she knew he would demand to know it immediately, and she could not face that. Under pressure, she would not get the words out at all. It had to be done in her own time. If only she could find that time! And even that, now, would be after she had decided whether or not even to tell him – and for that, she would need to decide whether she could live with herself under a lie.

Her silence, once more, told Matthew all he needed to know. He had waited for some moments, his brows raised in challenge, in hope. Now his face fell once more, his brows furrowing into a frown, his lips twisting into a pursed, bitter smile. He could not allow himself to hope any further. "You have made your position quite clear, cousin Mary."

"Matthew..." She looked pleadingly at him, realising with regret that it was too late; she had missed her chance and closed the doors between them once more. Once more his eyes were cold, his mouth a hard line of indifference.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I must be returning to my office. Goodbye, Mary." He nodded sharply and walked past her before waiting for a response. After a few steps he stopped, turning to look back over his shoulder but not quite meeting her eyes. "Give my regards to your family, and enjoy your time in London... I shall see you in a week or so."

And with that, he continued on his way, leaving Mary standing there. She looked after his handsome figure retreating, not for the first time; once more berating herself for being unable to say that which was in her heart.

* * *

Matthew stood in the hallway of Crawley House, surveying the few cases piled by the front door. He was only going for a few days! He let out a quiet snort. He would never have considered taking so much for such a short trip, not before he became heir to the estate of Downton. It all seemed slightly ridiculous to him still. Morning suits, day suits, dinner suits, more ties, cufflinks and hats than you could shake a stick at. He was even taking his own valet with him. His dress had been much more modest whilst in Manchester. Though he had accepted well the increased dress requirements of his new position, this had to be considered at an even more extreme level for travelling to London; for 'The Season'. He dreaded to think how much Lord and Lady Grantham and their daughters had taken for an entire month. Still, he found some amusement in the rampant parading and posturing, and it would be lovely to be there for Sybil's debutante ball.

"Do you have quite enough, there?" Isobel teased fondly from the lounge.

"I should very much hope so!" Matthew smiled back at her. "Are you sure you will manage without Molesley for a few days?" As much as he had resented the provision of a butler and valet at first, they had grown used to Molesley and appreciated his contributions to the smooth running of the house.

"Of course we will." Isobel reassured him. "Are you looking forward to it all?"

"No, not really." Over the last week or so, with Mary and the family away, the pain of her rejection had dimmed slightly in his memory. Though it was always present, it had helped him to not be seeing her, and reminded of it, daily. And now he would have to see her once more, in the pressing company of London society. Would have to see her flounce and flirt with her potential suitors, as he had sorrowfully watched her do on several occasions at Downton. But never to him. Though she had flirted with him, had joked and laughed with him, it had always seemed different to the easy, carefree charm she entranced others with; it had seemed more deep, more genuine, more tentative and real. That was why he had believed her, had been sure of it when she kissed him so wonderfully, so meaningfully. His eyes closed, sighing as the memories came flooding back. Now that would all be thrown back in his face, even more painfully so than when she had so carelessly turned her charms to Sir Anthony Strallan after laughing with him.

"Oh, Matthew." His mother touched his arm gently, bringing him out of his reverie. She suspected the thoughts that played on his mind, the reasons for his reluctance. "It is only a few days; it will be over soon enough. Remember, you are going for Sybil; not for Mary."

"Yes, Mother. Thank you," he smiled wryly at her ability to read him so well. He looked out, seeing that Molesley had loaded his cases onto the car and was waiting patiently. "I see I must be off. I will endeavour to enjoy myself as much as I am able. Goodbye, Mother." He kissed her fondly.

"See that you do, Matthew. Have fun; goodbye!" She stood at the door and waved to him, praying that he would return with more hope than he was leaving with. It might be that Mary had realised her true feelings by now. Yes, there was still time.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading :) We are nearly up to the highly anticipated excitement of Sybil's ball... One more short chapter to go before we get there! Reviews massively appreciated, I hope you enjoyed it. :)


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thank you for reading and for any comments, as always! Massive, massive thanks to silverduck this chapter for spending inordinate amounts of time discussing exactly how Mary and Matthew are feeling at this point, and for helping me overcome my insane love of the semi colon. Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

**Chapter 7**

London. The season. A whirl of gaiety, garden parties, invitations, dinners, dances and society.

Sybil's presentation in court was due for the second Thursday of July, nearly two weeks after the Crawley's arrival in London. Until then, their time was spent catching up with old acquaintances, purchasing new ball gowns and enjoying the London life. Sybil, of course, was thrilled about her upcoming presentation and ball, as were the family for her. Mary, too, was delighted for her youngest sister. She was extremely fond of Sybil, probably more so than of anybody. Well... Could one call what she felt for Matthew 'fondness'? It mattered not; this was Sybil's season, and Mary was determined not to sour it with her despondency over Matthew.

Though Mary always found herself caught up in the excitable atmosphere of London, this year it seemed to hold less appeal for her. In previous years, she had been intent on discovering the possibilities of potential wealthy suitors; practising with ease the charming and flirting that came so naturally to her. Even when she and Patrick had been intended for each other, she had always kept half an eye out for any better offers that may have come along. None did.

This year, she found her attitude had changed. It had begun to change after her affair with Kemal; she had begun to realise the superficiality of the whole parade. Pamuk had opened her eyes to the possibility of something deeper in a marriage than wealth and position, and she found herself beginning to search for more than just the prospects of a man's inheritance. However, she still adored the thrill and the flattery of the attentions of her suitors; and so she had continued to happily participate in the charade. This year, there was Matthew. Her mind was preoccupied with him from the moment they arrived. She welcomed the distractions of London; and though she attempted to throw herself into the familiar pattern of smiles and pleasantries, she found herself comparing every man unfavourably against him. In fact, she was shocked to find herself feeling almost a touch guilty when she responded with polite charm to any attentions; her mind at once turning to him and wishing to be looking into his warm, tender eyes rather than those upon her. The whole matter began to lose its appeal rather. And so this year, she found herself more often standing on the sidelines, watching with an amused disinterest the other flirtations and dalliances going on. She tried to tell herself that this was because she was standing back for Sybil; pretending furiously that it was not because she was pining for Matthew or, even worse, because she was not attracting quite so many admirers as she once had. She was, after all, in her fourth season now; and an awareness that there were slight rumours of her indiscretion around London had not escaped her.

She couldn't decide whether she was dreading or welcoming Matthew's soon arrival in London. She missed him, and she was longing to see him again. Yet considering how they had left things in Ripon that day, she knew it would be a difficult and an awkward reunion, particularly under the constant and watchful gaze of her family. She had tried so hard to come to a decision about whether to tell him her sordid truth, and if so, how; but it was so hard to think of away from him. On the one hand, his absence was allowing her to think very objectively about it all; she must tell him, she knew that. She had even attempted on occasion over the past week to practise what she might say to him; though these attempts often ended with the paper she practised upon being screwed up and hurled into the fire. Yet at the back of her mind was the reluctant concern that, once she saw him, once she was faced again with his beautiful blue eyes and his rich, tender voice, she may forget all her sincerest resolves and come to view her mother's suggestion as suddenly making a lot of sense.

Matters were not helped by her aunt Rosamund's persistent questioning about her prospects.

"So my dear," Rosamund raised her eyebrows over her teacup. "Are there any young men on the scene at the moment? Have you caught anyone's eye?" Mary looked up with a quiet sigh. This was not a topic of conversation she was particularly comfortable with at the moment.

"Oh I don't know, Aunt. Not that I am aware of!"

"Come come, Mary," Rosamund placed her teacup delicately back in its saucer, leaning forwards intently with laced fingers. "There must be some young suitors you have! How are the pickings this year?"

"Much the same as usual, it would seem," Mary spoke disinterestedly. "I must confess that I have not found much appeal in the whole business, this year." She did not intend to go into her reasons why.

"My dear, you disappoint me!" Rosamund gave a slight pout. "What has brought this attitude on?"

"I cannot say, Aunt. I just feel perhaps that, at the moment, there are greater considerations in my life than trawling London society for eligible gentlemen to marry." The only consideration on Mary's mind, as it had been for some time now, was Matthew.

"What consideration could possibly be greater!" her aunt exclaimed. "Mary, I think you know that it is high time you were settled with somebody with decent prospects."

"So everybody keeps telling me!" Mary's voice came out a little higher and a little louder than she had intended, her frustration spilling over.

"And with good reason!" Rosamund pressed. Really, she was disappointed that Mary did not seem to have her priorities correct. "Mary, I do not know why you are being so contrary. There are plenty of options available to you in London at the moment; you would be wise to entertain some prospects."

"Perhaps I wish to find something more from a marriage than a sizeable inheritance; than suitable prospects." Mary did not quite know why she was bothering to defend the issue. Her aunt could sometimes be accused of having a somewhat mercenary attitude in these matters, and Mary wondered whether it might be better to just smile and nod.

"Mary! Do you speak of love?" Rosamund raised an eyebrow mischievously.

"No, I – that is not what I meant!" Mary futilely tried to backtrack. "I simply meant that I do not wish to view a man in light of his prospects alone."

Rosamund pursed her lips, curious at this turn from her niece. She had the sneaking suspicion that she was missing something. She made a mental note to press Cora on the matter later.

"An interesting consideration, to be sure, my dear." She spoke carefully, pondering a moment. "Of course –" she hesitated. "You were once promised to Patrick. I'm sure our young Mr. Crawley would be a very sensible choice, should you remain so disinterested in London society."

"Matthew?" Mary clutched her teacup, panicking slightly. "What should he have to do with any of it!"

"Oh, nothing, I'm sure." Rosamund reassured her. "I would advise you to carefully consider the gentlemen you may come across over the season, I do think it's important, Mary. I only meant that, should nothing come of any of that, it would be a prudent consideration to turn your attentions towards your cousin Matthew!"

"Oh, I see." Mary relaxed a little back into her chair, worried for a moment that her aunt had known of her situation with Matthew. "I'm sure you are right, Aunt. I will bear your advice in mind." She meekly acquiesced to her aunt's suggestions, thinking it easier in the long run to just bite her tongue on the matter. Hopefully then these difficult questions would stop.

The day of Matthew's arrival came swiftly around. Sadly, he had missed Sybil's presentation at court to the King and Queen, but he was glad to be there for her celebratory ball at least. He arrived the day before it, and was met by the Crawley family at Victoria station with warm smiles and handshakes.

He had spent the last half hour of the journey preparing, and bracing himself, for seeing Mary once more. In her absence, his heart had begun to harden against the grief she had caused him. Yet now that he drew closer to London, to meeting her again, he could not prevent his heart beating a little faster, his breath coming a little shallower. Indeed, he felt it all but stop altogether as he stepped out of the train carriage and saw her; her beauty after two weeks of absence stole his breath away. She smiled politely at him. He instantly understood the silent plea in her expression to be pleasant for the sake of Sybil; now was not the time for their unbearable awkwardness. He gave her a slight nod of understanding and flashed her a brief smile, before turning his attentions to greeting the rest of the family. He greeted Sybil particularly fondly, clasping her hand in both of his warmly and congratulating her on her successful presentation. Mary looked away quickly.

That afternoon and evening, Matthew was relieved at Robert's invitation to join him in the gentleman's club he frequented during the family's excursions to the capital. It was a haven, away from Mary. He felt as though he needed respite already after their meeting at the station; they had exchanged nothing more than a polite smile and a glancing handshake, yet he found himself deeply affected. At the mere sight of her, all the charged emotions of the two weeks following his proposal had flooded back into his mind. He was glad, then, at the release provided by Robert's conversation of work and estate matters. It meant that, for one more evening, he was spared from the trial of appearing civil and indifferent before the family, when he felt so far from it.

He wondered if she had missed him at all these past two weeks. He wondered if she had even thought about him. He wondered what she had been doing; whether she had been searching for alternative offers among the myriad of wealthy suitors down for the season. The thought had occurred to him that, perhaps, her delay had been down to a desire to delay long enough to be sure that no better offers came along. Could she really be so mercenary? Was any regard for him she might have shown so superficial? It distressed him that he could not be sure.

He decided to make the most of the next day by touring the sights of London. Under other circumstances, at another time, he might have shyly asked Mary to show him the main attractions. Though deep down, he knew he would love nothing better than to spend the day with her even considering the current state of things between them, he did not dare for the anguish it would almost certainly cause his heart. Though the pain of her rejection stung him less keenly now with the passage of time; he still felt it bitterly when he saw her. He sadly observed that they seemed nigh on incapable, now, of speaking to one another at length without an argument. He knew that he could not escape her at Sybil's ball, though he hoped that he would find security in the volume of people there.

His one concession from avoidance was luncheon with the family, taking a picnic in the charming surroundings of St James' Park. Cora graciously enquired after his mother, and the hospital, and in turn he asked how they had been keeping themselves occupied in London thus far. He discovered that this was a wise line of enquiry; for Sybil was enthusiastic enough about it to chatter away the whole duration of the picnic. From time to time he would steal glances at Mary, who remained silent for the most part, giving only small contributions when Sybil forgot a detail. What was going on behind her cool, indifferent expression? Though it might have pained him to know, he was curious to know how she had been whiling away her time. However, he felt unable to ask without drawing undue attention to himself and the matter between them.

As the afternoon began to draw to a close, Matthew began to dread the prospect of the ball. It was Sybil's debutante ball; there would be men a-plenty filling the room, all ready to lay their affections at her feet. How many would be distracted, enthralled and entranced by her eldest sister? He bristled at the thought of other men clamouring for Mary's attention; memories of numerous uncomfortable dinners at Downton springing to mind. How she had been so captivated by Pamuk, how she had so carelessly charmed her way into Sir Anthony's regard purely to spite Edith. He was not so naive as to believe that she was not flattered by flirtatious attentions, that she did not enjoy the 'thrill of the chase'. He felt a stab of jealousy at the thought of it; all these potential suitors who she would dazzle and charm, when it was he whom she had tentatively admitted to caring for, he whom she had so passionately kissed, he whose hand she had so tenderly held entwined with her own. All this they had shared, and still she refused him and sought the attentions of others? His heart ached within him for the loss of the intimacy they had once shared, how little it had so clearly meant to her.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. As Mary sat languidly watching Anna entwine delicate flowers into Sybil's hair, her thoughts were plagued and troubled by Matthew. She tortured herself over the loss of the intimacy they had shared, the loss that was her fault and hers alone. How different things would be if she were attending this season, announcing him proudly as her fiancé. How much happier would she be! She was dreading the prospect of facing any attentions she may receive, concerned for what Matthew would think of her should he see. She so desperately wanted him to know of her regard for him, yet her resolve was set. She could not allow him any encouragement, not before she was able to tell him about Pamuk. It would not be fair to do so tonight, not on Sybil's evening.

"Sybil, you really do look breathtaking," Mary smiled appreciatively at her youngest sister as Anna stepped back, her task complete.

"If I might say so, Milady, you do indeed." Anna spoke quietly.

"Why thank you, both of you!" Sybil breathed, turning to admire herself in the mirror.

"Are you excited, Lady Sybil?"

"Absolutely!" Mary could not help but smile at Sybil's enthusiasm. "I feel as though I've been awaiting this day for months, and now it is finally here! It's almost like Christmas!"

"You darling;" Mary murmured as she rose and went to stand behind her sister as Anna bobbed a curtsey and departed. In a rare gesture of affection, Mary gently curled a loose tendril of Sybil's hair between her fingers and set it carefully against her cheek. It was no reflection at all on Anna's superb handiwork, of course. Sybil shared an affectionate smile with her sister.

"I wonder how many eligible bachelors Mama and Papa will be intending to throw at you," Edith pondered sulkily from her perch on the bed. Edith had often jealously observed the affection between her elder and younger sister. Things with Mary spoke for themselves; yet while Sybil had always been kind to her, it never seemed to be the same as how she was with Mary. And anyway, Sybil was kind to everyone. Edith considered herself to just not be a very affectionate person, though she sometimes wished that she could be.

"Oh, I care not for that," Sybil ignored the bite behind Edith's words, determined to maintain a pleasant atmosphere. "Mama and Papa may throw as many men at me as they wish, I shall of course smile charmingly at them and dance with them all if they desire, though I shall have no intentions for them! I have no pressing desire for a husband just now; I am quite content to have a wonderful evening with no further thought to it. There is plenty of time for all that!"

"Of course there is," Mary smiled in slight admiration and amusement at her sister's attitude.

"You would say that," Edith muttered. Mary's flippant attitude towards men had always irritated her. She tried to convince herself that this was not due to the jealousy she felt at Mary's ease to attract the attentions of men. She smirked to herself at the fact that, this season more than any other, those attentions had been less than usual. "Your attitude certainly seems to be one of not caring for a husband, Mary, considering your treatment of poor Matthew."

"What do you mean by that?" Mary's voice was low and cold, her eyes shooting daggers towards Edith in warning. Edith's jibes made her see red at the best of times, but particularly when they concerned Matthew, and particularly on this night, for Sybil's sake. Sybil frowned, watching her sisters carefully in the mirror. She did so hate it when they bickered like this.

"Simply that you do not appear to be so bothered about securing yourself a husband as one might think you should be," Edith met her eyes levelly. "After all, you are passing over Matthew – he may be the last chance you get!" Her lips twitched upwards into a slight smirk as she recalled the letter she had written some time ago. A letter whose effects she hoped she could see in the reduced number of Mary's invitations this year.

Mary stood and glared at her sister, bristling in anger, desperately trying to control the biting responses that sprang to mind. She would not ruin Sybil's evening by an argument with Edith. Refusing to be drawn into the trap of revealing her feelings once more, she raised an eyebrow coldly.

"At least I have an offer, Edith." She smiled devastatingly. "That is more than some of us can say." Edith glared back, wishing not for the first time that she was more gifted with words than she was; that she might be able to quickly think of damning retorts to Mary's put-downs.

"Mary, Edith, please," Sybil pleaded quietly, wearing a distressed frown. "Mary, that was unkind of you to say. And Edith, I really do not think you should presume to speak of how Mary is treating Matthew; it is not our place to know or discuss what goes on between them."

"Oh Sybil darling, I'm so sorry," Mary laid a hand in apology on her sister's arm, ignoring Edith entirely. She was so angry at herself for having caused Sybil upset, for not being able to let things go. Edith, she thought she could hear, muttered something in apology.

"Oh don't apologise, Mary," Sybil smiled. "Let us just determine to have a thrilling evening from now on." Mary nodded, smiling. "Mary?" Sybil's voice lilted enquiringly.

"Yes?" She leaned her head closer to Sybil as her sister's voice hushed conspiratorially.

"Matthew is so wonderful and kind; I do wish you would work things out with him. I know that you care for him! I know it, Mary. It would make me so happy if you could resolve whatever it is that stands between you."

"Sybil, it is not that simple," Mary frowned. "Much as I would like to –"

"There, you see! You would like to." Sybil smiled dazzlingly at her, undeterred. "You should know that I expect to see you dance with him this evening, at the very least!"

"Sybil..."

Thankfully, Mary was spared any further pressing on the matter by their mother's head peering around the door. A warm smile of delight lit Cora's face as she came fully in.

"Oh my darlings; how wonderful you all look!" Cora gushed with pride at her daughters. "Sybil, you are sure to make a dazzling impression tonight. Your father and I are so proud of you."

"Why, thank you, Mama!" Sybil grinned in pride and excitement.

"Now then; if you are all ready, shall we go down?"

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A/N: Apologies that not a lot happened in this chapter; it's all important for setting up what happens next.. *drumroll* Sybil's Ball! Reviews and comments much appreciated. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Well, here it is. Thanks for sticking with me so far, and for all reviews etc! Enormous thanks to silverduck again. Hope you enjoy! :)

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**Chapter 8**

For nearly the first hour of Sybil's ball, Matthew found himself stalking uncomfortably around the ballroom. He generally enjoyed the pleasure of dances and such entertainment, but this evening the prospect seemed sour. He found himself longing for the days when he would have been content to dance with any charming young woman he happened to find himself by. Not so, any more. There was only one he would wish to share the pleasure with now; and she evidently did not share his attitude.

Occasionally, some such pretty young thing would try and catch his eye, making a move towards him. He was not naive; he knew how stories and rumours – especially those about young single gentlemen and their prospects – spread around the aristocratic circles. He was well aware that some of them would know of him, of his position and prospects. The thought made him slightly uncomfortable, to be an object of attention by someone who knew nothing of him other than his name and inheritance. At the slightest hint of interest in him, the slightest flutter of eyelashes or movement across the floor in his direction, he determinedly glared at the ground and moved on. If he wasn't in such a dour mood, he might have found the whole thing faintly amusing. He wished that he was not in such a temper. He was here for Sybil, he knew that, and should not let thoughts of Mary spoil the evening – but he was so affected that he was unable to help it. He thought wryly that Lord and Lady Grantham would never invite him down for the season again, after the display he was putting on!

From across the room, Mary watched him. She had observed the attention paid to him, and noted the interest of various young women in search of a husband with good prospects. She cast her eye disparagingly around the assembly. She supposed, of the various available heirs mingling, that Matthew would indeed cut quite an enticing figure. The others – those that she knew of, at least - were too old, too eager, too boring, too sour looking, too silly, too _something_. If she were a young, flighty thing, it would be Matthew that her eyes were drawn to. He appeared to strike just the right balance of detachment, intrigue, fascination and appeal. Her eyes narrowed as another girl, clearly trying _far_ too hard in a frothy bejewelled and draped violet gown, approached him. The idea made her distinctly uncomfortable. The very thought of anyone presuming to throw themselves at her Matthew... 'Her' Matthew? She cast her eyes down. He was not hers, no matter how much she would wish it. She sadly thought that maybe, he could be – still now, even, after all the bitterness between them – but it was impossible, impossible without a lie at least. She considered, angrily, that she would never have had such a problem with Patrick. Or the blasted Duke of Crowborough. Anyone, really; she would happily have let them marry her in ignorance. But not Matthew; he meant more to her than that. Far more.

Sybil, meanwhile, was having the time of her life, currently being whirled around by a young Baron. She grinned over his shoulder, her girlish nature revelling in the dance, whilst trying to maintain the composure required of a debutante. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mary, and her smile dropped a little, for her dear sister looked so despondent. She cast her eyes around eagerly for Matthew, fiercely believing that he was the only one who could right Mary's melancholy mood. She spotted him eventually (though the effort made her a little dizzy), and even managed to catch his eye – he managed to raise a small smile for her. Sybil's heart went out to him; to them both. How could they be so blind, to not see that what they so desperately needed to right things between them was each other? Or if they could see it, then why did they not do something about it! Sybil sighed. She liked to think she understood a little about love, but she most certainly did not understand how such a wonderful thing could bring two people down so low! She shook her head, and quickly became distracted once more in her joyful dancing.

Sometime later, Matthew stepped back into the clamour after having taken a desperately needed moment of air out on a balmy balcony. He had begun to feel stifled, the celebratory atmosphere jarring his bitter mood. He clung to the edges of the room. Somehow, he eventually found himself standing uncomfortably next to Mary. They both shared a sense of detachment from the colourful, swirling gaiety around them. His eyes traced the enthusiastic couples dancing. He found the whole thing slightly odd, all these young women parading themselves out to find a husband. He had noticed Sybil's many admirers; and of course, who wouldn't admire her tonight, resplendent and sparkling in her debutante's gown. Once or twice, it had vaguely crossed his mind to offer a dance to her. He was fond of her, considered her a sister; and it would be quite nice he supposed. But he could not summon the will or the motivation to do so.

His eyes slid sideways to Mary. She looked equally entrancing, he had to admit. Her skin was like cool marble, her hair delicately coiffed and curled atop her head, adorned with a jewelled clip. Her shimmering golden gown draped elegantly around her slender body. Her beauty enthralled him; it had since the moment he first saw her. She left him spellbound, unable to think coherently or act as he knew he should. He wanted to hate her. He wanted to walk away from her and forget about her after the pain she had caused him, but he knew it was futile. He was drawn to her, and always would be.

He frowned slightly as he observed the clear effort and care that had gone into her appearance; far more than usual. He considered bitterly that she must be hoping to attract some attention. He knew it was her fourth season, which apparently meant a lot in aristocratic circles. Hoping to attract attention from a better and wealthier man than him.

He didn't know why he asked. It was an absurd thing to ask, but he felt so anguished at the prospect of her attentions being directed elsewhere that he almost wanted to torture himself; to make it as though the pain he was feeling was justified. To prove it to himself.

"So," he asked, trying hard to keep the simmering resentment from his voice. "Have any potential suitors caught your eye, this evening?" He kept his eyes fixed resolutely ahead.

Thus, he missed Mary's expression of shock as he asked. How could he possibly think that she was interested in the attentions of other suitors? Her expression slowly changed to one of consideration. Looking at him now, so troubled, the words of her mother rang in her head – 'Does he not deserve to be happy?' She looked sorrowfully at him, the hard set of his mouth displaying indifference but concealing anguish. She knew it was the same anguish she felt when she considered a future without him, the contempt he would hold her in once he knew her truth. Was it worth it? Didn't he deserve to be happy? Though terrified to her core by the prospect of what she was considering, she looked at his face and was swayed by the overwhelming desire she felt to see him smile again. She had made him believe that she cared so little for him that she would be seeking other suitors before having answered his own proposal! She could not bear that she was the cause of such distress to him, and was determined to rectify his opinion of her feelings. Though the doubt had entered her mind, she knew in her heart that she could not brush over the issue of Pamuk – but she decided that it could be dealt with later. Once Matthew had returned to Downton, she would work out how to tell him. For now, she just needed him to know how she felt.

She felt as though she must be slightly mad. Maybe it was the dizzying atmosphere of the ball, maybe it was the punch she had been sipping in her sullenness. Maybe it was simply the effect he had on her. Though she had determined to reveal her feelings to him, the prospect of simply coming out and telling him seemed absolutely absurd. He would surely not believe her, not now. And in any case, Mary had never been one for speaking her feelings plainly. Though she was able to be open with Matthew about many things, her feelings for him were certainly not one of them. How could she let him know? Especially when he had such a low opinion of her affections anyway! She thought carefully for a moment, as if considering her prospects.

"Yes, actually; there is one," she said coolly. She so nearly came clean with him then, but at the last minute her nerve failed her. She would feel far too exposed to speak of her feelings for him openly, and decided instead to speak as though of another, creating a facade to hide behind. "He has shown some interest in me, and I would be lying to say I had not considered the possibility." Matthew's heart stabbed at her answer, but his expression remained indifferent.

"Oh?" He should have just left it there, but he was burning with a morbid curiosity. "What is he like?" His grip tightened around the stem of the glass he was holding until he was afraid it would shatter.

"Well, I must say that he is not widely known in these circles," Mary shrugged a little. "Of course, there is a lot of talk and rumours about him; you know how the aristocracy love to make assumptions!"

"Indeed," he muttered coldly.

"He is, of course, extremely handsome," Mary breezed as her confidence grew, gesturing out to the floor with her glass. "I have seen that well enough for myself!" In a strange way, she felt utterly liberated to be speaking of how striking Matthew was so openly. She almost forgot that it was he himself that she was speaking to. Fearing she would become too self-conscious to praise him such, she imagined perhaps that she was telling a good friend (were she to have one) about how simply wonderful the man that she loved was.

"Of course," Matthew retorted bitingly. "And that is a fine virtue on which to contemplate marriage, I am sure. I assume he has further qualities than this?"

"Oh yes," Mary gushed, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm now. "I do know as well that he is very intelligent, very clever, and hard-working, I believe. Everyone who speaks of him has such an extremely high opinion of him, my parents included. I know that it should be a fine match, at least."

"It would certainly seem so," Matthew practically growled, his eyes growing darker and his frown deeper. He should not have asked. Her callousness amazed and pained him; clearly her few weeks in London had had a marked affect upon her outlook.

"His prospects are very desirable, too, so I understand," Mary continued, outwardly showing no indication of awareness of Matthew's feelings. She could not go back now. "I believe he is set to inherit one of the larger estates in the north. Mama and Papa certainly think it would be a fine prospect for me."

"Has he made any official intentions towards you?" He was torturing himself, he knew. He did it almost consciously, perversely believing that if his heart could become so battered and bruised by her, he might just begin to hate her enough to get over her. Deep in his heart he knew it was futile. He would always love her, no matter how much she trampled upon him.

"Yes, just recently." Mary stated. Glancing towards him, she wondered if she had perhaps gone too far. But she reassured herself that she was only speaking the wholehearted truth.

"And have you any affection for him? Or is it merely his prospects that entice you so."

"Yes, I have affection for him," she said, her voice growing quieter. "We can get on so very well, though sometimes I think we misunderstand each other." Beside her, Matthew simmered, at breaking point. "Yes, I am very fond of him."

"It sounds like you should be a fool not to accept him, then." Matthew hammered the final nail into his heart, though it had already shattered at the belief that she could be speaking of such a warm relationship with someone, when she had been so intimate with him but a month ago. How quickly could her affections turn!

"Indeed, I should," Mary whispered. For the first time, Matthew turned his eyes towards her, bracing himself for the indifferent expression he would see towards him. He blinked, surprised; for indifference was not what he saw in Mary's eyes. He did not know what it was, he had not seen that expression for so long now; but indifference it was not. Mary held her breath. Looking away again quickly, Matthew shook his head, berating himself for being so pathetically foolish as to hope for a moment.

"What is the estate he is set to inherit? I imagine it is grander than Downton. Might I know of it?" Matthew imagined that he might just about be able to bear it, if she were at least passing him over for a larger estate, for grander prospects. No, bear it was not the right term. At least, he thought bitterly, if that were the case he would understand that her heart had really lain with the size of his inheritance. If not; well. If she would settle for lesser prospects; that would mean that he was simply less desirable to her. And that... That would be too much to bear.

"Indeed it is not!" Mary insisted, as though it were an odd thing for him to think. As an overwhelming blackness of despair threatened to engulf him, as he felt his soul shattering into pieces, he heard her final words as through a fog. "It is not grander than Downton, for the estate belongs to my father. It is Downton Abbey - and its heir - of which I speak, Matthew."

Mary held her breath.

It took Matthew a short moment for the impact of her words to hit him. Could she possibly mean... He turned to her, his eyes wildly searching her face. He racked his brain wondering if there were some other Downton, some other heir of which she spoke, but in his heart he knew there was no other. Open-mouthed, he ran back the words of their conversation in his mind. She continued to hold him with a gaze of such sincerity, such... warmth? Could it possibly have been that she was speaking of... of him?

His mind twisted round and back on itself desperately trying to unravel her meaning. He did not dare to believe it. He narrowed his eyes at Mary, unsure. He forced himself to speak, his voice trembling with emotion.

"Do not toy with me, Mary, I beg of you."

"I assure you, Matthew, I do not." Her voice was low and sincere, and she met his pleading stare levelly.

Nearly overcome by the barrage of thoughts fleeting through his mind, Matthew continued to stare at her in disbelief. If it was him that she spoke of... She had spoken with such warmth, such wonder, such admiration... She thought all this of him? One thought still held him back. He narrowed his eyes in challenge.

"I might ask you one question, Mary," he decided to play along with her game, for now. "If you should be such a fool to not accept this man... Tell me, why do you not?"

Mary blinked, taken aback by the one question she had been dreading. Yet of course he asked; it was only fair that he asked. But she still could not tell him.

"Things are not always as simple as they appear, Matthew. The gentleman in question seems to believe that a lack of formal acceptance is equal to a refusal! I assure you, it is not! I have intimated so several times, but this he will not see!"

He cast his mind back over their conversations preceding her removal to London. Could she be right? He had become so convinced of her coolness, so bitter and angry himself that he had ignored the indications she had given him. He recalled her saying 'if only things were simpler', 'if only I could'. That 'if I did _not_ – love you – I should have definitely rejected you'. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat; he had been so embittered that he had rejected these glimmers out of hand. Had he been such a fool?

Mary watched him carefully, assessing his reaction. She could see the turmoil behind his eyes, trying to work her out, trying to work himself out. She hardly dared to hope that he could forgive her cruelty so easily, despite her admission. Her heart pounded, waiting for him to show some sign of response.

A wave of simultaneous anger and relief flooded over Matthew. Anger that he had spent so long torturing himself with the thought that she did not feel anything for him, and relief that she had just made it so abundantly clear that she did. He still could not reconcile the grief that she _had_ not accepted him – he hardly dared contemplate what the reasons might be, but suddenly they did not seem to matter quite so much. He was struck simply by the single fact that she _did_ care for him, that maybe she _might_ marry him, if not held back by some unspeakable reason that he did not want to ruin his fresh hope by thinking about too deeply. She cared for him, maybe even loved him, and the joy of that fact alone was revelation enough for now.

Matthew's priorities suddenly crystallised in his mind, dispelling the turmoil within. There seemed nothing else to do. He had played enough games with her now, and tired of them. At least, if they were to continue in their strange form of game, it would be by his rules. As his eyes began to sparkle for the first time in weeks, tinged with a hint of deeper desire, he held his hand out to her.

"Dance with me, Mary."

It was not a question. And Mary did not reply, other than to meekly nod and take his hand, allowing herself to be led, trembling with nervous anticipation, into the swirl of couples in the centre of the room.

The band had just begun to play a lyrical waltz. As if in a trance, Matthew turned to face Mary, looking into her eyes for a fleeting moment as he took her gently towards him. His heart was pounding, hardly able to breathe. He had become so used to feeling bitterness and sorrow every time he looked at her that he almost didn't know what to do now. The feel of her slender hand in his almost terrified him. Tentatively, his free hand slipped around her waist, and she did not resist. Her eyes fluttered as he guided her against him, holding her slightly closer than maybe he should. Mary allowed her free hand to hover hesitantly for a moment, before laying it gently on his arm. They were cheek to cheek now, breathless. Confidently and surely, Matthew began to guide her steps with his body, and she found herself easily yielding to his direction. Mary felt her breath desert her for a moment, giving a little gasp at the new sensation of being so exquisitely close to him.

Though Matthew's movements were sure, his emotions were not. As he led her round, weaving deftly between other dancers, he could barely believe that it was Mary he was holding so closely. It was an entirely different sensation from any dance he had danced before, and in a strange way it held more wonder than her kiss, to feel her so close against him. His nerve wavered, but he did not allow it to show. He felt lightheaded, sure that he must be dreaming, for this was too wondrous to surely be true. Yet the warm feel of her against him, the soft touch of her hand in his and her other on his arm, testified to the reality of it.

Across the floor, Cora raised her eyebrows.

"Robert..." she nudged her husband.

"Yes, dear?" He turned towards her, curious at her tone of voice.

"Look." She nodded towards the centre of the room, and Robert immediately saw what she was gesturing at. A warm smile spread across his features as he saw them, wondering, hoping that they had come to some understanding after the tense hostility of the last few weeks.

Mary wondered perhaps if she was being foolish, if she had made a mistake in making her feelings clear to Matthew. But as he held her and guided her so tenderly, she could not bring herself to wish that she had not. She could feel the closeness of his face, could feel his breath against her cheek. She felt a thrill all over at his touch, at the way she felt so secure and warm against him. Unconsciously, his hand that rested on her back began to move ever so slightly, giving the gentlest of caresses. She trembled slightly in his arms; terrified that she did not deserve to feel such delight, yet unable to resist him. Slowly she tilted her face in towards him just the slightest amount, savouring his scent. Suddenly she heard him whisper, his lips so close to her ear.

"Thank you." His voice, so warm and sincere, sent a shudder through her body.

As the music came to an end, Mary slowed to a stop and pulled back, meeting his eyes. He gazed at her with such a strange intensity that she suddenly could not breathe, the pounding of her heart seeming to drown out the chatter of the revellers around them. There was nothing but him in her whole awareness.

Matthew looked intently at her, allowing his eyes the luxury of taking in every inch of her perfect face. He had not felt able, for many reasons, to look at her like this for a long time; but now her own eyes darkly reflected his expression.

"Matthew –" she whispered, barely able to produce a sound. "I need... Could we step outside a moment? I feel in desperate need of some air." The thick atmosphere between them was beginning to overwhelm her, and her increasingly shallow breathing was leaving her, not unpleasantly, lightheaded. He nodded.

"Of course," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Come." Allowing his arm to reluctantly fall from her back, but retaining a tentative hold on her hand, he led her towards the corner of the room where he knew some doors led out onto a secluded balcony overlooking the city. He had sought solace there himself earlier, in his distress; it seemed fitting somehow that he should seek peace there again, this time with Mary beside him.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for getting this far! To be continued... Reviews always appreciated! :)


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thank you for your lovely reviews on the previous chapter! I'm so thrilled you enjoyed it. Thank you for coming back to read some more. Thanks again to Silverduck for some very thorough checking of this chapter ;) Here is Sybil's Ball part deux. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Matthew stepped out onto the warm balcony, lit with the fading golden light of evening. The buildings visible from the balcony seemed to shine in the evening light, the windows appearing to be made from gold. He rested both hands on the balustrade, leaning heavily on it, attempting to retain some sense of composure. He took several deep breaths, in the hope of calming the storm of emotion within him. Mary stepped beside him, delicately placing her hand so close to his that there was but a hairs breadth between them. She looked down at their hands next to each other, nervous of the strength of what she was feeling, and tentatively moved her fingers until they just were glancing against his. At the slight gesture, Matthew turned his head to look at their hands also, the movement bringing his face closer to hers. He raised his eyes and looked at her, her touch sending a shiver throughout his body. Mary slowly, tentatively raised her eyes to meet his, to see them clouded with desire. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared back at him, eyes wide in expectation.

Without a word, Matthew shifted and tenderly took her hand, gently pulling her to face him. Mary's heart fluttered as her eyes flickered over his face. The small distance between them felt charged, electric.

"Matthew –" she breathed, not really intending to say anything. His name just fell from her lips unconsciously. She gasped as he gently touched a finger to her lips.

"Do not speak, Mary." He gave a small, wry smile. "Not now. I don't want to risk this." He was very aware that lately, it seemed, the more they spoke, the more they seemed to misunderstand each other. Now, in this moment, no words were needed. Her eyes wide, Mary mutely nodded, her whole being simmering from his touch upon her lips. Matthew slowly moved his hand to her cheek; the gentlest of caresses. Mary shivered. She tilted her face upwards towards him, wordlessly giving him permission. This time she would not turn away. She would deal with the consequences later; she could not put him off any longer. She did not wish to.

Matthew saw the acceptance in her eyes, before they fluttered closed in anticipation. He swallowed hard, realising that she was leaving it to him, allowing him to take charge. His eyes roved across her beautiful face, lingering darkly on her lips. It felt so different from the time before. Then, their unspoken desires had spilled over and they had come together in a wonderful clash of passion; taken quite by surprise. Now, the contemplation of the act made him suddenly nervous, but as he realised her desire and acceptance, he could no longer resist her, improper though his passions might be.

His thumb brushed across her cheek, and he slowly lowered his head, tentatively pressing his lips to hers. For a moment he remained paralysed by the delight of the sudden sensation, and the realisation that Mary had not turned away. Recovering himself, he pulled back a fraction, meeting her eyes in passionate intent for a fleeting second.

Then, he stopped thinking. His hand slipped around to the back of her neck, his other rising to cup her cheek, and he pulled her towards him as he ardently brought her lips to meet his. Mary let herself fall against him in bliss, her hands lighting on his chest. His sudden resolve sent pangs of desire shooting through her from head to toe.

As he felt her respond, Matthew's confidence and delight soared. With his eyes closed in pleasure, all his other senses heightened. All he was aware of was the sweet taste of her lips and the feel of her against him. He could feel her hands clutch against his chest, could feel the fervour with which she returned his kiss. He held her to him, pouring out all the frustrated desire he had held locked inside for weeks.

Mary gladly yielded herself to his ardour, losing all power to think coherently. He was kissing her with such a passion that she thought her legs might buckle under her. She was quite unable to halt a tiny whimper of delight sounding in her throat. A delicious tingle swept through Matthew at the sound of her pleasure, and he could not prevent a small shudder. He paused a moment in wonder, before tilting his head, exquisitely deepening the kiss. His hand fell from her cheek and snaked around her waist, eagerly pulling her body close against him. Mary didn't care that she couldn't quite breathe, her delight was too great. Her hands, which until now had been passively resting against his chest, slid up and around the back of his neck. She held him close, a delightful shudder sweeping through her body as her fingers entwined in his hair, her whole body pressed closely to his.

* * *

Inside the ballroom, Sybil curtsied enthusiastically to the young and quite charming Viscount she had just been dancing with, before making her way to the side of the room. She pressed her hand lightly under her breastbone, trying to take some air into her lungs against the restriction of her corset. She frowned gently, contemplating that she had probably had quite enough exertion for now. She smiled, casting her eyes across the joyful scene. She really was having a wonderful evening! It was everything she had anticipated. As she caught the eye of another young gentleman, she smiled graciously but raised her hand in delay. She really must get some air before she danced anymore! She considered stepping outside for some fresh air, but the thought of pushing through countless guests and smiling politely at them all was too much for the moment; her cheeks were aching from the permanent smile that had been fixed to her face all evening. Then, she remembered about a little balcony away down a corridor which she had noticed earlier; a far more secluded option.

Smiling to herself, proud for remembering about it, she snuck out and down the corridor. Taking a deep breath in anticipation of the sweet air, she quietly opened the door so as to draw as little attention to herself as she could. It was barely open a fraction before Sybil froze in her tracks, her mouth hung open in shock. She clasped her hand over her mouth, thanking the Lord that they were clearly far too engrossed to have noticed her. She silently closed the door again and leaned heavily against it, nervously clutching at her dress as her mind raced. She had absolutely not been expecting to see Mary pressed tightly against cousin Matthew, being kissed in a _thoroughly_ inappropriate manner! Indeed, Sybil had never even contemplated that a kiss could be such as that! Breathing shallowly in shock, she looked up and down the corridor to make sure that there were no guests around, hardly daring to think what would happen if they were chanced upon by anyone else. Thank goodness this balcony seemed little known of!

Slowly, she stood up fully, shaking her head in surprise. Then, gradually, she began to smile. Though she was entirely shocked at the manner of their reconciliation, she could not help but feel a thrill that they had finally come to their senses. Finally, an end to all the horribly uncomfortable tension that had been simmering around them all! And, more importantly than that, Mary might now have a smile on her face again. In her building excitement, she determined at once to tell her mama. Not of precisely what she had seen, of course; but of her hope that things might finally have been settled between Mary and cousin Matthew. Indeed, Sybil could barely contemplate the thought that they should _not_ be married now after such an embrace!

* * *

Utterly unaware of Sybil's brief intrusion, Mary was relishing the sheer bliss of being thoroughly kissed by Matthew. She now found herself delightfully trapped between Matthew's warm, enticing body and the cool marble of the balustrade at her back. The contrast was wonderful and sent shivers down her spine. The world could have fallen apart around her and she would not have realised. The pleasure was so exquisite that it was almost too much to bear. For a little while, at least, the glorious sensation of Matthew's kiss wiped out the thought that she still could not accept his proposal, and also of Pamuk. She was not able to comprehend anything but the delicious delight of his lips. Matthew was similarly entranced, so wrapped up in her enthusiastic response that for a brief, wonderful moment, he cared not about any of their preceding unhappiness. All that mattered was the feel of her in his arms, of her arms around his neck and her lips so wonderfully against his.

Finally, reluctantly, their lips broke apart. For a few moments more, Matthew stole some last fleeting, sweet kisses, before resting his forehead tenderly against hers. He held her still closely against him, unwilling to let her go. His eyes were still half closed in exhausted pleasure, and Mary could feel the rise and fall of his chest against hers as he recovered his breath.

"Mary..." he whispered, his voice low and ragged. "I can wait no longer." Her head resting against his still, Mary's eyes closed with a quiet sigh as the reality of their situation came crashing down once more. Matthew opened his eyes and searched her face tenderly, his heart pulsing as his eyes lingered upon her lips, reddened and swollen slightly from the pressure of his own. His face but inches from hers, he continued earnestly. "You must give me an answer now, Mary. Even if it is no; I... I will bear it, somehow. But you must spare me the torture of not knowing where I stand with you." His hand unconsciously stroked her cheek as he spoke. Mary squeezed her eyes to prevent tears of frustration from falling.

"Oh Matthew, I cannot!" Her whisper of exclamation was received with a bitter sigh. She slipped her hands from around his neck to tenderly clasp his face, desperately searching for any encouragement she could give him. She so wanted to accept him, trying to believe in the remnants of her bliss that they would somehow be able to work past Pamuk, together. But she could not tell him now, not so immediately after sharing such intimacy. "Matthew, you must believe me. It is Sybil's first ball in her opening season. You must see how inappropriate it would be to announce an engagement on such an occasion!" Or, she did not add, how unfair it would be to ruin the evening by bringing upon him the truth of her lack of virtue.

Matthew took her hands, grasping them earnestly between their bodies. He reluctantly supposed that she was right. His eyes searched hers beseechingly.

"Mary, might I take the encouragement from your words, then, that you might be prepared to announce an engagement, were the occasion not such as it is?"

The consideration flashed through Mary's mind, as she felt a small rush of panic. Suddenly, the possibility seemed very real, and it terrified her. But then she looked in his eyes, so earnest, so filled with affection, and she knew what her answer would be. Quelling her panic, she dipped her head, rewarding him with a small, hesitant smile.

"I believe you know what I should like my answer to be, Matthew." She raised her eyes tentatively to his, a light of flirtation in them. "Or have I not expressed myself eloquently or clearly enough?" Matthew grasped her hands tighter, the light of hope dancing in his eyes and a small smile of acknowledgement gracing his lips. Mary lowered her eyes again, regretful that she could not yet give him the answer he so wanted. "I am sorry, Matthew, truly I am. I hope you can understand."

"Yes," he spoke slowly, considering her words. "I understand that you cannot tonight. But when, then, Mary?" He gently tipped her chin, tilting her face up towards him. She met his eyes warmly, thinking carefully.

"You leave tomorrow, do you not?"She queried. He nodded in answer. "Matthew, I will not give you your answer other than face to face. That is paramount to me. Now, my family remains here for another two weeks, and I am to stay with my aunt Rosamund a further two... Therefore, I promise you that I will give you my answer the very day I return." One month. One month to find a way to tell him, for tell him she must.

Matthew eventually gave a small nod of acceptance. He slipped his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her in for one last searing, lingering kiss, before stepping back. Mary gave a little gasp at the separation, feeling suddenly cold without the warmth of his body against her. His hands trailed softly down her arms, taking her hands when he reached them.

"Another month?" He gave a gentle sigh. "I suppose I must bear it that long. So long as you are sure, Mary." His clear blue eyes searched hers piercingly. Both knew full well that he spoke of the surety of her answer, not of the time frame.

"Yes, Matthew." She smiled, almost in relief, at the ease between them now. "I believe I am sure! Or, as sure as I can be, at least." She squeezed his hands reassuringly.

* * *

Cora smiled happily up at her husband as he gently swayed her to the music of the cheerful band. Robert had never been much of a dancer, but she adored him when he tried on occasions such as these. She fondly reached up to touch his cheek, earning an affectionate smile in return. As the song ended, to Robert's relief, their attention was taken by Sybil waving them over from the side of the room.

"Sorry, I didn't want to interrupt you!" Sybil grinned affectionately at her father, earning a fond glare in response.

"Sybil, dear, what is it?" Cora asked, concerned. "Are you quite alright?"

"Alright? Yes, of course! I'm having a wonderful evening. But I have something to tell you that I think you will be rather interested to hear!"

"Oh?" Robert indulged his youngest daughter. He smiled ruefully to himself. She was a woman now, in every sense, yet he could not help seeing her still as his darling little girl.

"It is Mary," Sybil said, beaming.

"Is Mary alright?" Robert could not imagine what Sybil was in such a fuss about.

"Yes, more than alright I believe!" Sybil grinned at her parents. "I have reason to – I suspect that she may have finally settled things with cousin Matthew!"

"That's wonderful news, my dear!" Robert exclaimed. Beside him, a cautious smile lit Cora's face.

"Are you quite sure?" She pressed.

"Well, I do not know for certain," Sybil pondered, "but I feel as sure as I can be! They certainly look to be getting on much better this evening than they have been, recently." She raised her eyebrows as she recalled what she had seen.

"Yes, I believe you might be right about that," Cora nodded slowly.

"We did see them dancing together a little while earlier," Robert added, "They certainly looked a great deal more at ease with each other than they have in recent weeks!"

"Darling, we must remember though that one dance is not sure proof of an engagement." Cora tenderly encouraged her husband and daughter to be cautious. She knew how sure Mary's resolve was to tell Matthew about Pamuk, and wondered if she could possibly have taken her advice at last. "If that were the case, I think poor Sybil would be intended many times over!" Sybil chuckled as Robert looked faintly bemused.

"I did not say it was proof, dearest. But considering their recent attitude towards each other, it seems there must have been some change!"

"Yes, darling, I daresay you're right," Cora smiled fondly, squeezing her husband's hand gently. "And you know that I hope for the very same thing. But let's just see what happens, shall we?"

As they were speaking, Mary and Matthew emerged from the corridor which led to the balcony. They looked nervously around them, feeling sure that their indiscretion must somehow be written across their faces. Matthew gently touched her arm, the only gesture he could allow himself to make. Mary turned to him, a nervous smile playing about her lips. She felt a pleasant little shiver as his eyes lingered upon her.

"Mary, would you grant me one more dance before the evening draws to a close?"

"Yes, Matthew, I will." In her head, Mary wished that she were saying these words in response to what else he had asked her. "I should like that very much." She felt lightheaded, almost dizzy with elation that she felt sure she did not deserve. A stab of guilt flashed in her gut as she reminded herself just why she could not accept him yet, and considered just how much the truth would devastate Matthew. She chided herself for allowing herself to give in to her desire, for encouraging him unfairly, for allowing herself to yield to his kiss. But as she looked into his shining blue eyes, saw the delight upon his face and remembered the sweet taste of his lips, she could not help but be glad that she had.

Matthew fairly grinned, for the first time in weeks, and took her hand. With more confidence this time, he took her easily into his arms and began to lead her around the floor. Both relished the opportunity to have a few more minutes of being so close to each other. Mary could not prevent a smile spreading across her face as he swept her around, beginning to feel delightfully giddy. She was grateful for the fact that he was, unexpectedly to her, a very competent dancer. She could not concentrate hard enough on aught but him to be able to think about where she should step, without the slight pressure of his body to lead her.

Too soon, the dance ended. Mary stepped back a fraction, gazing delightedly into his eyes, her hands remaining a few seconds too long on his arm and in his hand. He was equally reluctant to let her go, and tried desperately not to notice the swell of her chest, or the glisten of her skin, from exertion. They gazed at each other with slight wonder in their smiles, hardly able to believe that they had come to this from their simmering frustration at the beginning of the evening. Matthew did not know what had brought the change upon Mary, what had made her decide to encourage him of her true feelings. In truth he did not care to question too much, only being wondrously grateful that she had.

Blushing at the clear adoration in Matthew's gaze, Mary dipped her eyes and shyly looked away. In doing so, her eyes caught Sybil's, standing at the edge of the floor. Matthew's eyes followed her gaze and, seeing Sybil, dropped Mary's hands quickly. Both felt a little guilty for having been so wrapped up in each other to think about Sybil too much, on her own special evening, and so Mary beckoned her over.

"Sybil, I feel I have barely seen you this evening! I think you must have been having too much fun!" Mary smiled fondly at her sister, trying to downplay the fact that she had made no real effort to talk to Sybil until now.

"I hope you are having a wonderful evening, Sybil," Matthew added. "You look quite breathtaking, I must say." He spoke sincerely, giving her a warm smile.

"Thank you, cousin Matthew," Sybil smiled at him but found a blush rising in her cheeks. How could she speak normally to him after the very compromising situation she had seen him in with her sister? After she had witnessed them so passionately embracing, oblivious to all but each other? She looked away quickly, desperately trying to dispel the memory, addressing Mary again. Looking at her sister didn't entirely help, but it was better than Matthew. How could they be smiling and talking so normally, as if nothing had passed between them? She shook her head, reminding herself of the times she and Mary had played together in the mud as little girls. It seemed to calm her again. "I assure you, Mary, I think I have been having too much fun! I have had such a delightful evening; I wish it would never end."

Mary took her sister's hands and squeezed them fondly.

"Sybil, darling, if it did not you would have to dance with the same few men a thousand times over and would become incredibly bored, I am sure!"

"I am not sure I would" Sybil laughed delightedly, a feeling of normality thankfully returning to her.

Matthew watched the two smiling at each other affectionately, and decided that he should not intrude on them. As her sister, Sybil still held greater claim to Mary than he, and he would not come between them this evening. He quickly excused himself, sharing a brief, knowing smile with Mary, before taking himself away.

For a few moments he wandered aimlessly, feeling a sudden loss at not having Mary by his side anymore. He shook his head slowly, reminding himself that but a short hour or so ago, they had been unable to speak to each other! He tried desperately not to allow himself to be too elated at the development in their relationship, but found that he could not help it. Trying to find something, anything, to do to distract himself, he found a nearby footman and took a drink, hoping it might calm him. It did not work, for he could not stop his eyes from searching her out. He stood contentedly at the side of the room, unashamedly watching her and remembering the feel of her body warm against his.

"Matthew, I'm glad to have caught you!"

He jolted, nearly choking on his drink as he heard Robert's voice next to him, blushing furiously at the inappropriate thoughts that had been filling his mind. He turned to Robert, floundering for words.

"Lord Grantham!" He swallowed, quickly recovering himself and remembering his manners. He smiled weakly, shifting his collar nervously. "I must thank you for laying on such a magnificent ball for Sybil. Everything is quite marvellous! And I thank you for inviting me to it."

"It would never occur to me to not invite you!" Robert exclaimed, reassuring his young heir. "Have you had a good evening, Matthew?" His expression turned very slightly more serious.

"Why yes, I have, thank you." Matthew raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to Lord Grantham's question than met the eye. "It has been most enjoyable!"

"Good, I am glad to hear it," Robert nodded. He pursed his lips, considering a moment before he spoke. "Matthew, forgive me if it is beyond my business, but I could not help but notice earlier that you shared a dance with Mary." Matthew raised his eyebrows, but was not surprised that this had been witnessed. Robert decided that he might as well come straight to the point. "Now, I know this last month has been difficult for you, with Mary's very odd behaviour. And I do say it is odd, because Cora and I are convinced that she cares for you." Matthew smiled appreciatively. "It appeared to us that you were at much greater ease with each other; can we assume that you have come to some understanding?"

Matthew tapped his fingers against his glass, unable to help his eyes moving to Mary once more, across the room, as he considered his response. Robert looked between Matthew and the object of his gaze, hoping that he had not hit a nerve. Eventually, Matthew answered, with a small frown.

"It is difficult to say, entirely, Lord Grantham." He thought a moment more. "I would say that... We understand each other a great deal more than we did at the start of the evening. Mary has promised to give me a formal answer when she returns from London. In the meantime, she has given me hope to believe that her answer, when she gives it, will be favourable."

Matthew looked so delightfully happy suddenly that Robert could not resist giving him a thrilled clap on the back.

"That is wonderful to hear, Matthew. If that is Mary's decision, I will not press her on it; I doubt that would do any good at all!" He stopped, then smiled suddenly, very warmly, at Matthew. "But let me tell you how thrilled I should be, Matthew, were it to become officially settled. As I am even now."

"Thank you, Sir," Matthew clasped his hand in a warm gesture of understanding between them. "As am I, I assure you."

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly and quickly for Matthew. He retired fairly soon to bed, though not before a multitude of secret shared glances with Mary as they both mingled more socially than they had earlier in the evening. Occasionally he would catch her eye, and she would smile, and he would smile back, and they would both remember what they had shared with a warm glow in their hearts.

* * *

The next morning, Matthew rose early to return to Downton. He shared a pleasant breakfast with the rest of the family. As Sybil chattered excitedly, recounting her tales of the evening before, he stole repeated glances at Mary. Mary surreptitiously watched him back, needing to frequently lower her head to cover her blushes and smiles. She had dreamt of him that night, reliving the exquisite intimacy of the evening before, and remembering it again now she saw him. She could little believe how much it had affected her. In the cold morning light, she remembered more clearly why it might have been a mistake to yield to him so; but she found herself unable to regret it too deeply. At least now she would have near on a month to fully work out her feelings, to fully work out how to break the news to him that she was not virtuous. She wondered if he would still love her. Her smile dropped a little. Though it was maybe a little selfish of her, she treasured the realisation that at least, now, whatever happened, she would have the memory of his incredible kiss and their tender dance to sustain her.

Though they did their best to behave normally, the family knew that even for Mary and Matthew to behave normally to each other meant that they must have made some progress in their relationship. Though all were aware of it, to some extent (Sybil still had to hide the occasional blush when looking at them), no-one spoke of it. The issue simmered under the surface of their breakfast conversation, and Matthew was almost relieved when the time soon came for him to board his train to Ripon.

At the station, he wondered desperately how to say goodbye to Mary. He knew that even to take her hand in parting would draw undue attention to them. He simply stood in front of her, and wished her well. He hoped that she could read in his eyes all that he would like to say to her, were they without an audience. She could, and smiled at him with a flutter of her heart as she wished him goodbye. After a warm handshake from Lord Grantham, and further thanks for the pleasant day or so he had had, Matthew climbed onto the train. As it drew away in billows of smoke, he did not tear his eyes from Mary's. His eyes lingered upon her lips, and he shivered as he remembered how sweet they had tasted. How thrilling the warm pressure of her body had felt, and the way her hands had felt on his chest and in his hair. His eyes drifted closed as he savoured the memory. One month, he told himself. One month; then he would see her beautiful face again, and he would have to wait no longer.

* * *

A/N: Well, there we go. I hope you enjoyed it, reviews would be hugely appreciated as always! I must say that I found the earlier portion of this chapter very difficult to write - I am NOT confident writing kissing in any form! So I'd be thrilled to know if you think it turned out alright. Thank you so much for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you so much for sticking with me through this, and for your encouraging comments! Sadly, this is the final chapter. Thanks particularly to Silverduck for beta-ing, and also Silvestria and AriadneO for all being amazing sounding boards when I was struggling over Mary's mass of very confusing thoughts through this chapter. Several quotes in here borrowed directly from Downton Abbey, which sadly does not belong to me. Grab a tissue and enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Matthew returned to Downton village a far happier man than he had left. His mother immediately noticed the change in his attitude, and questioned him on it of course. Matthew gladly informed her of the change in Mary's attitude, declining to tell her precisely how he had discovered it. Isobel, of course, was thrilled with the news. She had always been a little unsure of Mary; she did not seem nearly so pleasant or easy-going as Cora or Sybil, but Isobel had grown to develop a grudging respect for the young woman. Matthew loved her; that alone may have been enough for Isobel, but occasionally she saw glimpses of the troubled soul beneath the surface, and had begun to appreciate that Mary probably cared a lot more for things than she often let on, including her son.

Matthew wrote to her, several times, in the weeks before the rest of the Crawley family returned home. There were no ardent declarations of love, nor any mention of what had passed between them at Sybil's ball. Matthew simply loved to talk to her, and hear from her, now that the awkwardness between them seemed to have dissipated. Mary was glad for the light-hearted tone of his letters, as they allowed her to easily respond in a similarly casual manner, without worrying that she was giving him false hope before she would tell him the truth. She could not prevent feeling a small thrill when she received a letter from him, and was able to pore over his words and treasure them unashamedly, mundane though they might be. That they were from Matthew alone, to her, gave pleasure enough, rather than what he actually said.

It was not long before Lord and Lady Grantham, along with Ladies Edith and Sybil, returned to Downton. Matthew was still sorry that Mary had not returned with them, but he accepted that Mary's plans should not have been changed merely due to their changed relationship. He sent a brief note to welcome them back but did not intrude upon them at the Abbey, allowing them some days to settle back in after their month in London. And before long, an invitation was sent for Matthew to meet with Lord Grantham. Matthew was pleased for it, imagining that the Earl would be eager to hear of any developments on the estate in the time they had been gone. Matthew could not deny that he had felt his place as heir more than ever while Lord Grantham had been away, and was looking forward to discussing matters of the estate with the older man.

He briskly approached the imposing entrance of the Abbey, casting his eyes appreciatively over the grand old house and smiling fondly as he did so. He was finally beginning to see a future for himself here, more so than ever since Mary's encouragement at Sybil's ball. Matthew smiled warmly at Carson as he opened the door, before being ushered into the library where Lord Grantham was waiting.

Matthew stepped into the library, his face already breaking into a warm smile of greeting when Lord Grantham turned round. And the smile dropped a little from his face, for the earl's expression was utterly unreadable. It was not an expression of fond welcome, as Matthew might have expected. Instead, it was a very odd mixture of troubled regret, concern and yet with the oddest hint of delight. Matthew frowned as he approached him.

"Lord Grantham, it's a great pleasure to see you again! Is everything quite alright?"

"Matthew. It's very good to see you, do come in." The earl seemed to recover himself then, shaking Matthew's hand firmly. Matthew gratefully took a seat. He waited as Lord Grantham shifted a little uncomfortably, anticipating that he was about to say something serious. Panic flashed through Matthew's mind. Was it Mary? Was she alright, had she become ill? Had she reversed her affections once again and instructed her father to inform him? Worries tumbled through his head, until they were interrupted, realising he was being spoken to.

"Matthew, I have some news for you." Matthew swallowed nervously as the older man sat down across from him, looking at him with that strange expression again. He raised his eyebrows in anticipation as the earl continued. "It is not easy for me to tell you this; you of all people." God, he knew it. It was Mary. Something had happened. "It's Cora."

"What?" Matthew blurted out, having mentally prepared himself for some devastating blow about his love. What could news of Cora be to him, of all people? Robert's brows furrowed gently and he leaned forwards towards his young heir.

"She is pregnant, Matthew."

Lord Grantham's words dropped like a bombshell on him. Matthew was simply stunned into silence for a few, shocked seconds, before the full implication of the news gradually dawned on him. A sick feeling began to churn in his stomach. Cora, with child. He was not naive; he instantly realised that if the child were a boy, the entail would move in his favour. Where would that leave Matthew? A lowly middle-class lawyer in Manchester once more? He was vaguely aware of being spoken to still; apologies, reassurances, useless, meaningless words. Matthew swallowed hard, shaking himself back to reality as he realised that the earl was looking at him in concern.

"Please forgive me, Sir," Matthew attempted to raise a small smile. "You must be thrilled. You have my warmest congratulations!"

"Matthew..." Robert trailed off as he realised there was nothing he could say. "I know it puts you in a very difficult position."

"Where it puts me is beside the point, Sir," Matthew forced a smile. "I fully appreciate that I am your heir purely through a fluke twist of fate and the law. Your child should have far more right to it than I, of course. So please, do not concern yourself with me." He once more felt the keen displeasure of feeling an outsider, pushing in on the entail undeservedly. He had not felt this way in months, had been really beginning to accept that the position was rightfully his, and had finally felt that everyone else was accepting it too.

"I do, though, Matthew." His words were of little comfort. "It is by no means certain that the child will be a boy, in any case." So, Matthew thought, he was supposed to hang in the balance in expectation for five months, unsure of the security of his position? Wonderful.

"Your concern is kind, Lord Grantham, but do not trouble yourself." Matthew gritted his teeth, not desiring any sympathy; it would make him feel more pitiful than he already did. "Anyway, I fear you must excuse me; I have taken too much of your time this morning already, and have some small business to attend to." Robert nodded, reading Matthew's words fully as the excuse they were, realising that the young man likely needed some time to get his head around things. He stood, with an expression of sympathetic understanding which simply riled Matthew further. Matthew turned at the door. "You must pass my warmest congratulations to cousin Cora; it really is thrilling news." With that, he left, still more angry at himself for being distressed about it when a baby, of course, was incredibly thrilling news for Lord and Lady Grantham.

As he walked home, staring at the ground in front of his feet in turmoil, something else occurred to him. Something much more troubling than the prospect of his own fortune. Would Mary possibly wish to marry him still, with his prospects so uncertain? A sick fear stabbed into his heart. He was as sure as he could be that she loved him; her words and actions at Sybil's ball had left that in little doubt. But she loved Matthew, the heir to Downton Abbey. Could she possibly still love Matthew, the very ordinary middle-class lawyer, if it should come to that? His gut twisted as he realised he wasn't at all sure.

Arriving back at Crawley House, he immediately sat down to write to her, thankful for the moment that his mother was not in; he was not ready to face her questioning. He puzzled over what to write. He was far too proud to plead with her, but did not know what else he could say. He settled for enquiring as to how she felt about the news, and added the hope that it should not change her considerations towards him. He was unsatisfied with it, but he had to say something, had to know what she felt. He sealed it with trembling hands, sending it to post right away.

It had not surprised Mary that her aunt had found out about Matthew's proposal. Nothing remained a secret from Rosamund for long. Her aunt's sentiment that the marriage would be very 'tidy' seemed to irritate her immensely. The thought that she would marry Matthew simply to secure herself a comfortable position went wholly against the strength of everything she felt for him. She hated that anyone would think she might marry him for any other reason than that she loved him. She had spent the time since his departure becoming more and more convinced of this fact, and the realisation thrilled and terrified her. She had determined even more fully that she had to tell him about Pamuk, and had been formulating just how to tell him with a renewed surety.

Then one morning, a telegram arrived for Mary with breakfast. Rosamund raised her eyebrows inquisitively over her teacup, preparing to grill Mary on its contents. They rose further as Mary let out a small cry, clasping her hand over her mouth.

"Mary?"

It took Mary a few moments of silently opening and closing her mouth before she was able to process any words to come forth.

"It's my mother. She is... expecting! With child!"

"Well!" Rosamund could not decide whether to be horrified or amused. Her lips pursed suddenly. "That makes things very interesting."

"What?" Mary had not really been listening, too in shock to play along with her aunt's teasing.

"Don't you see my dear, it complicates matters rather deliciously! If your mother's child is a boy... Well, your Matthew would be the heir no longer!"

Mary looked at her aunt, her face dropping, her expression one of pure shocked disbelief. She quickly excused herself to her room, her thoughts spinning uncontrollably. What would happen if Matthew did not inherit Downton? What would he be without that? Did it matter? Her heart went out to him; she knew too well the disappointment of ruined expectations. He would be once more a lowly solicitor alone. Would that make him any different? She had never known him as ought but the heir to Downton – would it change him at all?

It was not long before she received his letter. Though it pained her to observe his clear distress at the matter, she felt she could not offer him much comfort because she did not know what to say to him. It did change things! Did it? She still loved him, she knew that. The pleasure she felt when she was with him was greater than any pleasure she gained from time spent with her family, and she wasn't sure she could bear the thought of being without him.

The shocking discovery that the slight rumours in London of her indiscretion had been started by none other than Edith had only furthered her desire to marry him still. She was so bitterly angry at her sister that the thought of marrying Matthew and being far away from her seemed even more appealing. It also furthered her determination to tell Matthew the truth. Her truth, not whatever cock-and-bull hash of it Edith had spread.

Once again, her aunt did not help matters. Mary made the mistake of voicing the consideration that she was not sure she wanted to put Matthew off, whether he inherited Downton or not. Rosamund thought this quite laughable. She knew that Mary, as she did, enjoyed her comforts and situation in life very much. She made it very clear that she simply could not see Mary content to dawdle her life away as the wife of a country solicitor; not with no greater prospects to look forward to.

Her words troubled Mary to consider precisely what her life would be like, were Matthew to lose everything. What would she do? What would occupy her life? The only thing that would tempt her to such a situation was Matthew himself, but she reflected that he would spend much of his time at work. Would she be expected to merely sit at home waiting for him? She could bear that at the moment, knowing that one day he would be earl, and they could share their time much as her parents did now. But what if a life of waiting for him to return home to a small, dreary house was all she had to look forward to? She so wanted to accept him. She desperately wanted to marry Matthew. But wanting to was not the same as being sure that she could. And how could she when she was not sure? And how _could_ she be sure? It seemed impossible. And was it worth putting the both of them through the agony of the truth about Pamuk when she wasn't sure that she could marry him, despite her desire to?

Too soon, it felt, the time came for her to return to Downton, and face Matthew. She had gained no clarification in her thoughts at all in the week since she'd learnt of her mother's pregnancy. She felt terrible for not having answered Matthew's letter, but there was simply nothing she could say to him. She was so terribly confused about what to do; and the mounting pressure on her mind of facing Matthew, and him expecting an answer from her, served only to heighten her indecision. She was terrified, unable to bear the thought of his anger if she could not. But how could she answer him when there was so much she was unsure of?

Arriving back at the Abbey, she appreciated the brief respite of tea with her family. It irritated her that all they wished to speak of was Matthew. As if he was not all she had thought about these past two weeks! Her grandmother, particularly, irritated her. How could she possibly suggest that she treat Matthew so cruelly as to only conditionally accept him! They understood nothing of her, if they thought her capable of that. Not with Matthew. She sighed in frustration, their ignorance serving to remind her that dear Matthew seemed to understand her better than anyone.

Thinking of Matthew, her heart sank a little as she recalled that she had returned, and she must face him. She excused herself, swiftly scribbling a note to be sent to Crawley House. She knew he would have been waiting for it. She allowed herself one hour to ready herself, to determine what to say to him.

Matthew was sitting nervously at home with his mother when her note arrived. Isobel watched him carefully; he had been on edge for days. His mood had been increasingly erratic, switching between despondent and irritated as Mary's return had drawn closer. She knew he had been distressed to not hear from her at all since the news of Cora's pregnancy had broken, and wished that she could offer him some support, but it was futile. He had even spoken of returning to Manchester, which seemed dreadfully rash to Isobel, when nothing was sure yet. There was nothing she could say, and even if there was, he would not listen. Nothing could settle his mood now but Mary. And so Isobel was relieved when her note arrived, and Matthew leapt up at once.

"I'm just going out, Mother." His voice trembled a little nervously. He did not need to say where.

"Of course, dear." She tried to smile encouragingly at him, but it had no effect. "Matthew," she called as he was nearly out of the door. He turned round, eyebrows raised impatiently. Isobel tried another, more determined smile. "I do hope your talk is favourable, Matthew." He softened then a little, raising a weak smile in response.

"Thank you, Mother. Goodbye." He swiftly gathered his hat and left.

He knew he would be earlier than she had stated, but could not sit at home waiting for the right time. He strode agitatedly through the village towards the Abbey, his expression a frown of worried thought. He was deeply troubled that she had not written to reassure him, and was convinced that she could not be satisfied with him now, his prospects so uncertain. Of course Mary appreciated the finer things in life, and she deserved to; how could she possibly be happy with him if he lost everything? He desperately hoped he was wrong. He might be wrong; her affection had been so great at Sybil's ball. She did love him, but was it enough? He trembled as he remembered the feel of her kissing him so passionately; could she possibly put that aside?

He didn't know how long he paced in agitation, at the spot where they had shared so many fond exchanges, before she appeared. He turned to look at her, trying to read her face but he could not. He frowned, trying to reign in his nervous apprehension. Gripping his hat nervously, he took a step towards her.

"Mary." It was an ineffectual greeting, but no other words came.

"Hello Matthew," she said, speaking coolly to cover her nerves. She was quite taken aback by his clear agitation, and so desperately wanted to make it right with him. Seeing him now, all her carefully prepared words flew out of her head as she was overcome by such a conflict of desires and considerations.

Matthew waited a moment, to see if she would be any more forthcoming. She was not. He wondered if she was suffering the same turmoil he was; if she was, she certainly did not show it.

"Well?" It may have come out impolitely, but he saw little need for pleasantries now. He had waited long enough. Mary closed her eyes briefly with the smallest sigh, and Matthew's heart immediately sank.

"I..." She didn't know what to say. What could she say? Only the truth. "I don't know, Matthew." How could she possibly say all that was on her mind? Her heart broke a little as she saw his face harden in confusion. "I'm sorry, but I can't. Surely you'd rather I give you an answer I was utterly convinced of! And I can't!"

All Matthew heard was that she could not. Again. Two months, he had waited. Frustration began to bubble through him at her indecision. She did not seem to realise how cruel the effects of her reluctance were.

"Let me get this clear." He took another step towards her, his expression a disbelieving frown. "At Sybil's ball, you said you'd give me your answer the day you got back, and now you say you will not?" His accusing tone riled Mary. Was he not listening to her? It wouldn't be fair of her to answer him still undecided!

"Why do we have to rush into it?" She flung her arms in frustration at the pressure she felt from his piercing gaze. "I just need to be sure, that's all!" Could he not understand how important that was?

"But you _were_ sure!" Matthew paced away from her agitatedly, his heart breaking at the memory of just how sure she had been. He had not mistaken it. He turned back to her, not hiding the bitterness in his voice. There was no point standing on ceremony now. He gestured furiously at her as he spoke, his voice rising in accusation. "Shall I tell you what I think has altered you? My prospects! Because nothing else has changed!"

"No!"

"Yes!" He shot back, not allowing her the chance to defend herself. "If your mother's child is a boy, then he's the heir and I go back to living on my wits, and you'd rather not follow me!" His eyes flashed with aggravation. The huge change in lifestyle that Mary would have to accommodate did not occur to him, not now. He was too bitter at her refusal to allow him the satisfaction of an answer.

"Oh, Matthew, you always make everything so black and white!"Mary hated being accused of anything, and could not help but respond heatedly to his anger, no matter the truth of it. Matthew whirled round to face her again, glaring incredulously at her.

"I think this is black and white! Do you love me enough to spend your life with me?" To him, the matter was simple. He lowered his head a little, staring at her more intently, trying to restrain the frustration in his voice but not quite succeeding. "If you don't, then say no." Mary looked down, unable to meet his eyes at the directness of his simple question. He paused a second, his voice softening, trembling a fraction as he leaned slightly towards her, his expression pleading. "If you do, then say yes."

"I want to!" Mary blurted out, flinging her arms against her side in frustration before trailing off. She wanted nothing more than to say yes, but there was simply too much standing in the way. How could she make him see that? "Granny told me I should say yes now, then withdraw if you lost everything!" She spoke harshly of the suggestion, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it. She couldn't do that to him; that was exactly why she could not say yes now!

Mary's eyes widened as Matthew shook his head in disbelief, looking wounded. His voice, when he spoke, sounded much deeper, much more wary.

"To make that work, you'd have to be a good liar." He held her eyes, the fierce disappointment in his expression holding her. His eyebrows rose and he stared challengingly at her. "Are you a good liar?" All the times she had so flippantly turned her attentions this way and that flashed through his mind. How good a liar was she; had she led him along so merrily all this time, only to drop him when he became not such an enticing prospect? Mary simply shrugged, having lost her energy to fight.

"Not good enough to try it, apparently." If she were, she might have tried lying about Pamuk. But she had not. Matthew looked at her, a pained expression in his eyes, before turning away. Mary sighed, frustrated that he had mistaken her meaning so terribly. "Do you really think I would have told you of her suggestion if I gave it any consideration at all? It is ridiculous!"

"The whole thing is ridiculous, Mary!" Matthew took another step forwards, his frustration spilling over. "You have asked me to wait again and again." His eyes narrowed and his voice caught slightly. "You were sure, Mary. You cannot pretend that you did not make that clear to me. Not after what happened between us."

Mary could not argue. She could say nothing. His accusation pierced her heart, and the worst of it was that she knew he was right, even if he didn't fully understand the reason. She simply stood resignedly, blinking back tears, unable to meet his eyes. Faced with her silence, Matthew felt a great weight descend upon his heart as he realised, finally accepting, that she would not accept him. Not now. He shook his head slightly, almost crushed by the pain in his heart. He pressed his lips into a bitter smile, forced into the expression as he feared he would weep if he did not. "Your actions say enough, Mary; I quite understand. Goodbye."

With a heart heavy enough to break, he turned and walked away. For a moment he hoped that she might stop him, might come after him and tell him not to be so hasty; but she did not. Clearly his prospects were the deciding factor in her consideration, and the depressing realisation that love for him alone was not enough for her was almost too much to bear.

Matthew found the next few weeks to be unbearable. He felt battered from every side, able to count or rely on nothing. He found the only support he could in his mother, though it was a cold comfort, and more often than not he found her sympathies pitying and irritating. To make matters worse, with their cook on loan to Lord Grantham for a week, Matthew was forced uncomfortably to dine at the Abbey every evening. It was excruciating. Unable to relax or enjoy the company, he hung back, talking to Robert occasionally but without any conviction or interest. Mary avoided him unscrupulously, feeling almost ashamed to be near him. But he had irritated her in his aggressive manner when they had spoken, and now he had such an air of gloom about him that he seemed quite unapproachable. She would not know what to say to him if she did. Apologise? It seemed pointless, for she could not make it right. And to tell him about Pamuk now would simply crush the poor man further. Occasionally she would catch his eye, but the dark look of anguish in his eyes both reprimanded and distressed her.

Matthew did not want to pain himself further by watching her, but he found himself entranced whenever she was near. He wished he was not so affected, and could only pray that his distress would soon pass. Robert tried to offer him some comfort, granting him Crawley House for life regardless, and expressing disappointment in Mary's attitude. It was little reassurance to Matthew that the earl wished them to marry; though his words warmed Matthew's heart, it was not Lord Grantham's affection and regard he desired. Nothing could heal the pain he felt but Mary's acceptance, and he had ruefully accepted that this was beyond hope.

Matthew felt his world turned upside down once again with the terrible news that Cora had miscarried. He sent a note of condolence to the family, but avoided going up there. In truth, he didn't know what to feel about it. He was terribly sorry for cousin Cora, and Robert, of course; it was a terrible thing to happen. And for the girls. He supposed he should be pleased at the news, that he was heir once more, but it was a hollow prize. The more he thought about it over the next few days, the more he considered that he did not want it now. It was difficult enough to face them all, particularly Mary, as it was. And now that the unborn child was lost, he would feel the imprudence of his position even more than he had when he had first arrived.

Mary found herself quite in shock. Her mother's miscarriage had distressed her deeply, and she was even more confused as to the position it left her in now. Clearly, the problem of Matthew's inheritance was solved. Did that mean she could accept him after all? She was not sure; for if she was not sure when his prospects were uncertain, had his accusation been right? If she didn't know whether she loved him enough then, could she marry him now? Yet now his prospects were certain again, how could she know? She was too afraid to seek him out; afraid of the coldness he would show her.

She was pleased, then, to see that he still attended her parents' garden party a few days later. She reflected with admiration that he must be immensely strong of character, to have dealt with the turmoil in his life of recent weeks. She watched him, chatting disinterestedly to various relatives, wishing she could find the nerve to speak to him. She did not know what to say, but hated the way things were between them. She had treated him terribly, she knew, and wanted him to know she was sorry for it. It took her a good hour to be able to do so.

Matthew had been putting on a pleasant face for the sake of Lord and Lady Grantham, unwilling to spoil the summer atmosphere with his bitterness, particularly with Lady Grantham in such a delicate condition. He had sought them out to offer more serious condolences, but quickly made his exit again before they could talk too much about his renewed position. That they should speak to him of that, now, made him sick. He spoke politely when spoken to, otherwise stalking around with little interest in the proceedings, until he felt a touch on his arm. He turned, surprised to see Mary looking at him with sorrowful eyes.

"Matthew – might we speak for a moment?" Her calm manner surprised them both. Matthew was too taken aback to object, and so calmly followed her to a more secluded corner of the garden, his mind puzzling over what she could want. It cynically occurred to him that of course she should seek him out, now that his prospects were certain once more. He smiled ruefully to himself; no longer angry, but regretfully resigned to the truth of her priorities. He stopped when she did, a look of calm disinterest on his face as she spoke. He had worked so hard to make himself not care, or at least not show that he did; he did not want to give her the satisfaction of seeing his distress. Mary took a deep breath. "Matthew, I cannot imagine how hard these few weeks have been for you. And I would like to apologise for the part I have played in that. I am sorry."

Matthew frowned, pondering her words. Why was she apologising now? What did she hope to gain from it; did she really think it could offer him any comfort? Worse, was she trying to ingratiate herself with him once more, now that his prospects were certain? He bit down the rising feeling of frustration at her patronisation.

"I thank you for your words, Mary, but it is too late." It was too late for everything. He smiled regretfully at her, before casting his eyes around. "I think it would be better for us all if I left and returned to Manchester."

"What?" Mary felt a blind panic at his words. "But –"

"But what?" Matthew snapped. "But now you wish me to stay? Why, Mary? Why are you sorry?"

"Because –" she faltered, searching for the right words. "Because I think I have acted foolishly, Matthew. I have treated you unfairly, and I think that if I could take these last few weeks back and live them over, I would not do the same again." She would tell him. She would accept him.

"Of course you would not," Matthew muttered angrily. "Now that it is clear you would not lose anything by accepting me, of course your decision becomes easy."

"No!"

"No?" He challenged her, daring her to tell him the truth, now. He just did not know what her truth was.

"I don't know." Her posture sank a little, and her composure began to fade slightly. She changed tack, challenging him now. "Why must you leave? Surely now you must stay, especially now!"

"What, now that my presence is required again?" Matthew glared bitterly at her. "Now that I am no longer superfluous to your family, to you?" Mary shook her head slightly in confusion.

"But I don't understand, nothing's changed!" Why should he think their affections were any different now than they had been? He shook his head incredulously at her.

"Everything's changed." How could she not see that? His words suddenly struck clear to Mary, as she realised the truly terrible opinion Matthew must have of her. That she had been waiting, and now that his prospects were secure once more she could happily accept him.

"You can't be sure I was going to refuse you, even if it had been a boy! Because I'm not!" She gestured pleadingly, trying to make him see that her considerations had not been so materialistic. She wished she could find the words to tell him more clearly, to tell him how dearly she would love to marry him, if there were not still the ghost of Pamuk haunting her thoughts. It was impossible to tell him now; she was too beyond coherent thought in her distress.

"That's the point!" Matthew's voice shook slightly, as he bit back the lump rising in his throat. He looked regretfully at her. "I can't be sure. Of you; or of anything it seems. The last few weeks have taught me that." He looked away, at what he would be leaving behind.

"But you can't leave Downton!"

"I can't stay." His voice was low, almost on the edge of breaking. He almost smiled at her, a bitter, sorrowful smile that broke Mary's heart. "Not now."

"Well what will you tell Papa?" Mary stared beseechingly at him. She could not beg him to stay for her, he would not; but maybe the consideration of her father would hold him.

"That I'm grateful for what he's tried to do..." He paused, turning to look behind him at the Abbey. What might have been. "But the experiment is at an end." He turned suddenly back to Mary, speaking with more force; directed not at her, but at his pitiful situation as a whole. "I'm not a puppet. And I must take charge of my own life again."

Mary leaned towards him slightly, her eyes pleading with him the question that she must know the answer to. She asked almost breathlessly.

"Would you have stayed? If I had accepted you?"

Matthew's expression turned to one of sorrowful surprise. He looked at her disbelievingly, unable to believe she could ask such a question of him.

"Of course.." His voice shook, and he looked at her with an expression of such regret that it broke her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut a moment, unable and unwilling to hide her distress any more.

"So I've ruined everything!" Her voice began to break uncontrollably into tears.

"You've shown me I've been living in a dream. And it's time to return to real life." He struggled to hold back his own tears, determined not to give in now. But he could not prevent the low tremor in his voice as he looked at her, the pain in his heart too much to bear. "Wish me luck with it Mary..." He smiled at her then, a pained, pressed smile of bitter regret. "God knows I wish the best for you."

It did not matter what she had done. He wanted her to be happy. If she could not find happiness with him; so be it. He hoped she found it somewhere. With one last, longing look at her, he turned and walked away before he broke down, knowing he would be unable to hold in his emotions any longer. He wished beyond belief that things had been different. But it didn't matter now. Even if she were to run after him and declare her love, could he ever be sure of it? No.

Mary watched him walk away in disbelief, before shuddering sobs overtook her. In that moment, she finally realised the strength of her love for Matthew. She would marry him in a heartbeat, no matter his position. She loved him, and the thought of being without him was the most crushing despair she had ever felt. None of it mattered now; she could not tell him, and if she did he would not believe it.

It was all too late.

**The End**

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Believe me, I wish I could have given them a happy ending; that is up to Mr Fellowes now! Now that I've reached the end, I'd love to hear what you thought, so reviews would be greatly appreciated!

In the meantime, if you can't wait for series 2 for their happy ending, might I shamelessly direct you to my earlier post episode 7 fic '_Resolution_', which continues from this point. Although I wrote it before this fic was conceived, so please bear in mind that nothing that's happened here would be taken into consideration!

Thank you so much for sticking with me, I really hope you've enjoyed it. (And roll on series 2 for a happy ending to resolve all this angst!)

:)


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